


/£) 



LIBRARY OF C0NG ^,L 

016 165 557 



Hollinger Corp. 
pH 8.5 



THE LETTER H. 



A DRAMA 



IN A PROLOGUE AND THREE ACTS. 



BY 



CHAS. F: PIDGIN 



AND 



MARY M. GAY. 



BOSTON, MASS. 




1883. 






-*\ 



jt 



PRINTED TO TAKK THE PLACE OF MSS. 

NOT FOR SALE. 

COPYRIGHT, 1880 AND 1883 BY 

Maky M. Gay and Chas. F. Pidgin. 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 



CHARACTERS IN THE PROLOGUE. 

Gen. Horace Hamilton, IT. S. A., commanding at Thi- 

bodeauxville, Louisiana. 
Col. Henry Higby, his best friend. 

Litre, Gen. H.'s colored servant, addicted to stammering. 
BURSLEM, private, IT. S. A. 
DORUS, a Creole, wife of Gen. Hamilton. 
Lenore Clifton, her sister. 
Saida, an octoroon; Mrs. H.'s maid. 
Carmelit.v, a Mexican girl. 
Dieppo, Carmelita's child. 

CHARACTERS IX THE PLAY. 

Horace Hamilton, late a General in the IT. S. A. 

Hon. Henry Higby, Member of Congress, Col. N.G.S.N.Y. 

Herman, his son. 

Hikppo, a street musician. 

Luke, Mr. Hamilton's servant. 

Dr. Burslem, who makes insanity a specialty. 

DOBUt?, Mr. Hamilton's daughter. 

Lenore Clifton, her aunt. 

Saida, Luke's wife; Mr. H.'s servant. 

Carmelita LrcELLO, a Mexican lady. 

Johnny, 1 T , , . , , , ., , 

t,^,^,v Luke and Saida s children. 

t) ijijii, ( 

United States and Confederate Soldiers; Guests. 
SCENES. 

PROLOGUE. — Interior of Gen. Hamilton's Headquarters at 
Thibodeauxville, Louisiana. 

ACT I. — Scene 1. Exterior of Mr. Hamilton's Residence at 

Saratoga, Ncav York. 

Scene 2. A Path in the Woods. 

Scene 3. Same as Scene 1. The Garden Party. 
ACT II.— Exterior of Mr. Higby's Cottage at Lake George. 
ACT III. — Interior of Mr. Higby's Cottage at Lake George. 

TIME. 



PROLOGUE.— 1863. ACT I.— June 1881. ACT II.— A month 
later. ACT III.— Six weeks later. 



THE LETTER H. 



PROLOGUE. 



Scene I. — Interior of Gen. Hamilton' 1 s Headquarters at 
Thibodeauxville, Louisiana. As curtain rises, Gen. Hamilton is 
discovered seated at table reading letters and dispatches. 

Gen. H. (Looking at letter which he holds in Jus hands.) A let- 
ter tor Dorus. Postmarked Baton Rouge, from her sister Lenore 
- from the date - it must have been delayed - how happy Dorus 
will be with her sister. (Calls. )Luke, Luke! ( Enter Luke c. ) 
Luke, take this to Mrs. Hamilton. ( Passes letter to Luke. ) 

Luke. Yes - M-a-a-s-s-a Gen-er-al! (Goes l. 1. E.) 

Gen. H. Luke, you will never make a soldier. A good sol- 
dier when he is ordered to do anything does it, and makes no 
talk. Do you think you could obey an order and keep your ton- 
gue quiet? 

Luke. No, M-a-a-s-s-a Gen-er-al! (Gen. H. rises as if to fol- 
low Luke who looks at Gen. H. and then darts ouiL.l.E. Gen. H. 
falls back in chair laughing.) 

Gen. H. Luke*s tongue is his most useful m< mber-to/iim - to 
others -the most troublesome, - he stammers terribly. Ah, 
Burslem — (Enter Private Burslem, c, advances, salutes, passes 
dispatch to Gen.H. who reads it.) Tell the orderly there is no 
reply. ( Burslem salutes and exits c.) (Beads.) "Send one full 
regiment of infantry to G< n. Barker at once, by special train. ,? 
Gen. Barker is going Norihto rejoin the Army of the Potomac. 
Who shall I send? Col. Duncan? Col. Higby? Both are brave 
men and would prefer fighting in Virginia to garrison duty in 
Louisiana. Higby returns to-day after a three months absence 
on special duty. He is my tried, true and trusty friend. If in the 
coming crisis I should lose my wile, as many husbands have, 
I shall wish such a friend nigh at hand. I will send Col. Duncan. 
(Calls.) Luke! Luke!! Luke!!! (Enter Luke c.) ( Writes.) Take 
this to Col. Duncan. (Luke advances and tetkes the paper.) Now 
don't fish for an answer but go at once. (Luke stands and regards 
the Gen.) Why dont you go? Has your stammering settled in 
your legs? 

Luke. N-o-o- M-a-a-a-s-s-a Gin-gin-gin — 

Gen. H. What is it? What is it? 

Luke. There's a wo-o-o-o-man outside- wa-a-a-nts to see you. 



6 THELETTEEH. 

Gen. H. Admit her. (Luke exits c. Gen. H. rises, comes down 
stage R. turns and looks c. as Carmelita enters. Luke looks in, 
then exits suddenly. Carmelita with her eyes fixed on the Gen. 
comes c. opposite table, as Gen. H. resumes his seat at the table. 
A pause.) Well, my good woman, what do you want? 

Car. (Passionately.) My husband! 

Gen. H. War is more apt to make widows than to supply lost 
husbands. Who is he? Where is he? 

Car. Ha is my husbaa 1, the father of my little boy. 

Gen. H. (Aside.) Some gay young soldier's escapade. The old 
story. (To Car.) Is he in the Federal army? 

Car. (Sadly.) I don't know where he is, but I must find him. 

Gen. H. Of course you must, but the chances are that you 
won't. He may be a prisoner, or he may have been sent North, 
or he may be dead. 

Car. Dead? No, not dead. He must not die until my little boy 
has the right (o bear his lather's name. 

Gen. H. (Aside ) Not married. Worse thin I supposed, (to 
Car.) What is your name, and where are you from? 

Car. Carmelita. Guadalaxara. 

Gen. II. Mexican? (Carmelita nodai) What's the boy's nam;'? 

Car. Dieppo, a.ter my father, 

Gen. II. You mean his father; then he's a Mexican; we've got 
most every nationality in the Federal army but I don't think 
you'll find any Mexicans there. Vera Cruz, Buena Vista. Cher- 
ubuscoand Mexico are a little too recent for that. 

Car. He's not Mexican, American! lie never saw our little 
boy. He promised to come hack, 

Gen. H. They always do. lie didn't came? 

Car. He never dij. I have waited so long,oh! so Ion:, but he 
has not come,- and with my litil i boy I am going, I know not 
where, any where, to the North, tofin 1 him. (Gen. If. rises and 
goes to Carmelita.) 

Gen.H. My poor girl, I pity you from the bottom of my ivart . 
asldo every trusting woman who falls a victim to man's duplicity . 
who gives to him the priceless ire isure of her love, and h is her 
life wrecked as though woman's virtue was as cheap 'as the word 
of her betrayer. But, Carmelita, your search is hopeless; ah! but 
you have not told me his name — 

Car. Horace Hamilton! ( G in. H. reaolls ami looks astonished. I 
You start, you know him. Thank God! 

Gen.H. Know Hoi-ace Hamilton? No! I don't know tin- man 
you mean. 

Car. You do know him. You cannot deceive a woman whose 
child must see its father. 

Gen.H. I Avill be honest with you, poor girl. 1 do know a 
Horace Hamilton, intimately, but he never was in Mexico nev 
er saw you, I am sure. I will investigate. Comeagain; it it is as I 
think I will give you a pass to go North. 



THE LETTER H. 7 

Catc. And I shall find him? 

Gen. H. My poor girl, I hope you will. (Garmelita grasps the 
Gen.'s hand and kisses it; then slowly exits c. her eyes fixed on 
the Gen. who gives a sign of satisfaction when he turns and sees 
that she is gone.) What is this mystery? My name! Why, her 
piercing eyes, ami pathetic voice almost made me think I was 
the villain after all. I will look at the regimental rosters ; there may 
be another Horace Hamilton; if not, a pass to the North will re- 
move her from hei - e; and, in my wife's state of health, that is 
an important point .(Gen. H. exits door R. Enter Saida and Luke 
c.) 

SA[. Now, Luke, you go about your own business and let me 
alone. 

Luke. I con-sid-er it my bus-bus-iness to let } - ou a-a-lone. 
Sai. I mi glad jcuclo. 1 was airaid you considered it your 
business to look after me. 

Luke. Not a bi-bi-bi-bit of it. I Wouldn't g-g-g-give apic-pic- 
picayune for a girl that couldn't look a-a-after herself. 

Sai. The girl that marries you will have to look after herself 
and you too. Why, the preacher will charge extra you'll keep 
him waiting so long while you're saying y-v-y-y-es. If she's an 
economical girl sIk-'H finish saying it for you. 

Luke. Do-do-don'tyou m-o-o-ck me, Saida, I'm s-s-sensitive 
on that point. 

Sai. Sensitive? (Laug hs.) Why, you've got a numb tongue in a 
numbskull! (Saida runs L. I.E. as Bur slum enters c.) 

Luke. You do-o-o-nt know much, you don't know how to 
statu- stam-sta-stammer. 

Sai. Sho! you couldn't say booh to a bull-frog. (Laughs and 
runs out L.l.E.) 

Luke. Yes, I co-co-could say boo-boo-boo-booh to a bu-bu-bu- 
bull fr-fr-fr-og, just come ba-ba-ba-back and hear me! (Burslem 
comes down and ships Luke on back. Luke jumps.) What's the mat- 
ter? 

Buks. That's what I want to know. What is the matter. Quar- 
relling with Saida again? 

Luke. Well, I a-aint go-go-go-in' tolether be-be-browbeatme 
if she is a pivpretty girl. 

Burs. I am afraid Luke you don't know how to manage girls . 

Luke. Oh yes, I do, Cap'n. You see my Uncle Zeke he knew 
girls all through and he said to me, Luke, said he, if you ever 
like a girl you musn't hang round her nor let her know you like 
her, 'cause if you do she'll persume on you. Said he, nothing 
will make a girl persume on a feller so quick as spooning. He 
said I must always play off and be kind of sassy and independent 
until I had got her sighing like a green wood tire ; he said when 
I could draw tears in her eyes then it was always safe to pop 
and I'm going to act strictly 'cording to orders, 'cause you see 
(throwing himself into easy chair l.) what Uncle Zeke did'nt know 



8 THE LETTER H. 

about girls ain't worth prying into much. {Jumps up and down in 
chair. ) I wish I was an angel and could always sit in a sofa chair. 
(Burslem beckons to Luke, who jumps up.) 

Burs. (Chucking Luke in the side, laughing.) So you were try- 
ing the sassy, independent style on Saida, eh? 

Luke. (Chucking Burslem in the side andlaugliing.) Yes, sa-a- 
s-sy talk, the way I gi-gi-give it is pr-pr-pretty hard to stand. 

Burs. (Chucking Luke again, and laughing.) Did she cry? 

Luke. (Chucking Burslem again, and laughing.) She, she was 
m-o-o-st raa-a-d enough to e-e-a-eat me. (They chuck each other 
and laugh loudly. Enter Col. Iligby. c. Burslem salutes him and. 
going up c. exits.) 

Col. H. (To Luke.) Tell Gen. Hamilton that Col. Higby 
wishes to see him. (Luke exits door R. Col. Iligby sits in chair 
L. ) What is the matter with me? My hand trembles like a 
sick man's. I'm nervous to-day. I fancied as I came from the 
levee that I saw a face like Cavmelita's. Can I never forgei 
that girl? Little hope that she, with her warm, impetuous 
nature has forgotten me, if I, with my cold Northern blood, 
cannot banish her face from my memory. But it could not 
have been her — besides, this woman had a child with her. 
Thank Heaven, whoever she was, she did not sec me. (Enter 
Gen. H. R door. He advances quickly towards Col. Higby, who 
rises and meets himc. They shake hands heartily.) 

Gen. H. Ha! old fellow. Back again? I'm glad to see you. 
When did you get in? 

Col. H. Just now, this minute. Two first things to do. 
you know ; to call on Horace Hamilton, Esq., the only man of 
the kind in the world, (Gen. II. starts.) and then to get my 
dinner at headquarters with my old comrades. But, how do I 
find you in body and mind? 

Gen. H. Healthy in one, never better, and happy in the 
other. 

Col. H. And the bonny wife, whom I have never seen, but 
of whom I have heard so much. You wrote me she was to 
leave New Orleans and join you here. 

Gen. H. She is with me, and is as well as can be expected. 

Col. H. Ha! let me congratulate you. A noble boy or a, 
bouncing girl, which? 

Gen. H. Congratulate me? What about, pray? Can't a 
man's wife be as well as can be expected without — 

Col. H. Ah, I see my impetuous speech has got me in diffi- 
culty. I humbly beg your pardon, General, and will postpone 
my enthusiasm. (Both smile.) And now what can you tell me 
after a year of matrimony? 

Gen. H. That if marriage is, as you used to say, a lottery, 
that I have won the grand prize— she is the dearest and sweetest 
woman in the world. 

Col. H.It is every good husband's right and privilege to think 



THE LETTER H. 9 

that and say it to his friends. I sincerely hope you will be able 
to say the same words five years from date. The marriage cer- 
tificate, like a promissory note, sometimes makes the signers 
wish they had never learned to write. (Laiujhs.) 

Gen. H. (Seriously.) I shall always be able to tell the same 
stoiy. I'm sure of that. I only wonder that I lived thirty- 
eight years without knowing that she existed, and, stranger still 
that I really imagined that I was enjoying life hugely. My 
advice to all vagabond bachelors is to marry. (Laughs.) 

Col. H. But you forget, they might not all be able to get, 
as you have, the sweetest woman in the world. With so many 
to choose from and so few prizes, the chances of drawing a 
blank are calculated to dishearten one. Few men ever secure 
their hearts' choice among women. 

Gen. II.- I can truly say that I have. 

Col. II. You are a happy exception. Most men love women 
who are above them — out of their reach, you know, or, per- 
haps, those already appropriated — angjJs whom fate has cru- 
elly and with malice aforethought given to somebody else, who 
usually don't appreciate the treasures lavished upon them. 

Gen. II. I hope you have not had what is called a "bitter 
experience." 

Col. II. My dear Horace, I never really loved but two women 
in my life. One, my first passion, was a married woman all 
unconscious of my infatuation, and the mother of three chil- 
dren. Like Goethe's Charlotte, I have seen her buttering bread 
for her progeny, and in my unbounded love I would have mar- 
ried the entire family. The next was a beautiful girl who 
didn't please my rich lather and would have thrown our set 
into convulsions. Both dreams are over. 

Gen. II. But you married — I don't understand you — 

Col. II. Of course you don't. A generous, whole souled 
man like yourself who carries his heart on his sleeve would not 
be likely to understand. Ida Delmaine was a pure, sweet wo- 
man, as free, from guile as a new blown rose. She loved me 
sincerely, unworthy as I was of such devotion. We passed 
four years of quiet, serene contentment, and then she died, — 
and J missed Iter. I missed her loving welcome, her cheery voice 
and musical laugh, her familiar step, the ballads she used to 
sing to me — but, as good, and pure and sweet as she was, I 
was never in love with her. I respected her, liked her, was proud 
of her — but she never filled ray heart as {pauses) either of the 
other women have done. But, General, what's the news ? What 
is going on here? Any excitement to ruffle your peace of 
mind? 

Gen II. Yes, something happened only a few moments be- 
fore you came, in — mysterious — and may had to unpleasant 
consequences. I will tell you the whole story Henry and per- 
haps you can advise me what to do. I'm at my wits' end. 



10 THE LETTER H. 

Col. H. Command me. 

Gen. H. A young Mexican girl (Col. II. starts.) was here in 
search of her betrayer, an American — and worse still, she has 
a child — Dieppo she calls him — 

Col. H. (Aside.) It was Carmelita. (To Gen. H.) What was 
her name ? 

Gen. H. Carmelita, a very pretty name, too, and she, hand- ■ 
some now, must have been beautiful — 

Col. H. She teas / I mean, she was a Mexican girl, you said 
— didn't you ? 

Gen. H. Yes, from Guadalaxara. 

Col. H. (Aside.) Poor Carmelita. 

Gen. H. Yes, but listen to the most wonderful thing of all — 
the name of her betrayer — 

Col. H. (Aside.) It is coming. Good God! My son, my 
poor Herman. (To Gen. II.) Yes, Ms name — who was the 
villain — 

Gen. H. Don't use that word, until you know his name. 
You may wish to choose a milder one — 

Col. H. (Aside.) He is playing with me. (To Gen. H.) Who 
was he ? (Sternly.) 

Gen. II. She says Lis name was — (Col. H. averts his face.) 
Horace Hamilton ! 

Col. II. (With an incredulous stare.) Horace Hamilton ? 
(Laughs excitedly.) Why, what a joke. (Laughs again.) 

Gen. H. Yes, but a serious joke, or likely to be. She don't 
know my name note, but it will come out, and then what a 
scandal — and think of my poor wife — Henry what can I do ? 

Col. H. (Aside. ) 1 must and will save Herman at whatever 
cost. (To Gen. II.) Now, Horace, this is a wonderful coinci- 
dence '■ — almost as wonderful as a man marrying the right wo- 
man. I can explain this whole matter. 

Gen. H. Thank God! Henry, you have a chance to prove 
yourself my best friend. Do this, and Horace Hamilton will 
never lose faith in you until you bid him to. 

Col. II. I shall hold you to that compact, Horace. (They 
clasp hands.) The story is a short one. Years ago, just after 
we left Harvard, with a boon companion, Avho shall be name- 
less, as he is dead, 1 visited Mexico on business for my father, 
who, you know, made his fortune in the Mexican and South 
American trade. My friend was always falling in love and this 
Carmelita was one of his flames. Do you know, I remembered 
her and thought I saw her here to-day. 

Gen. H. But why did he give my name ? That is still a 
mystery. 

Col. H. I can only imagine why. We often talked of home 
and friends and your name was always on my lips. He was 
young and unscrupulous — he assumed a name — and it was 
yours. He can never explain it — for, as I said, he is dead. 



THE LETTER H. 11 

He was in the city of Mexico — I at Vera Cruz — when he 
wrote me that he was ill with a fever and wished to see me. I 
arrived too late. He probably intended to tell me this sad story 
of the girl — and of his deception in using your name. With all 
his faults, he was a gentleman and I know he would have told 
me to find Carmelita and make some reparation for the wrong 
done her, the full extent of which, however, he might not then 
have known. Shall you see Car this woman again? 

Gen. H. Oh, yes, I told her to come back — 

Col. H. Soon? She may come while I am here. I don't wish 
to see her. I loved Arthur — -and if I see his victim I shall pity 
her — and love his memory less. 

Gen. H. Very natural. I do not expect her for an hour yet. 
She wants a pass to go North to find her husband. I have or- 
dered Col. Duncan North to report at Washington. I did think 
of sending you. 

Col. H. {Excitedly.) And why not? Horace, do me a favor. 
Countermand your order to Duncan and let me go. And there 
is no use in giving this Mexican girl the pass. Give her this 
money — here are a thousand dollars — Arthur would bless me if 
he knew it — and, I am rich and can spare it. Give it to her- — 
from him. (Passes money to Gen. H.) 

Gen. H. After your long absence I had hoped to have you 
with us as a friend and counsellor. 

Col. H. No, Horace, I wish to get North. I must have a 
furlough and see my boy, my Herman — and also meet my polit- 
ical friends who wish me to accept a nomination for Congress — 
my district is sure — in that case I shall leave the army. 

Gen. H. If I am a judge of human nature you love that boy. 

Col. H. With my whole heart and soul — as you do your wile 
—and will love your child if — 

Gen. H. Don't speak of it, Henry. 

Col. H. Your .son or daughter shall never suffer if I can help 
them — anil who knows but that some day my son and your 
daughter may not marry. (They clasp hands.) We may never 
meet again, Horace. I have your picture. Here is mine — taken 
before the warlike whisker was a comfort as well as a necessity 
— now, give me the order to go North, and let Col. Duncan 
enjoy his good dinners and whist parties a while longer; (They 
(jo to table R. Gen. It. sits and writes, ivhile Col. H. sits on other 
side of table. Mrs. Hamilton looks in at balcony window l, ami 
overhears conversation) and you will give Carmelita the money? 

Gen. H. Yes, certainly, — she don't know my name — but il is 
only right, under the circumstances, Henry, that J should give 
her the money and tell her to bring up her boy to be worthy of 
his dead father — that Horace Hamilton, you know. (Lauahs.) 
Eh! Higby? 

Col. H. It is strange she never knew your name — but you 
don't look like a young man — or as you did when you were 



12 THE LETTER H. 

young, I mean — and then your beard and uniform are great dis- 
guises. Nobody would suspect you. You are safe, Horace, but 
keep it from your wife. She wouldn't relish the story, simple 
as it is. (Mrs. II. retires from window.) 

Gen. H. (Passing paper to Col. II.) But you must see my 
wife before you go. (Calls.) Saida! Saida! (Enter Saida l.I.e.) 
Saida, tell Mrs. Hamilton that my friend Col. Higby is here, 
and I would like to present him, if she will join us here. (Saida 
bows, and exits l.I.e.) (Enter Luke c.) What is it, sir? 

Luke. That wo-o-o-man has co-o-me ba-a-ck. 

Gen. H. What woman? 

Col. H. (Starting up.) 'Tis Carmelita. 

Luke. That Me-e-e-x-ican wo-o-o-man. 

Col. H. Horace, I don't wish to see her. Where can I go? 

Gen. H. (Rising.) In here. (Opens door it. Col. H. looking 
towards door C, exits n door.) 

Luke. Sh-a-a-11 1 sh-o-o-o-w her in? 

Gent. H. Yes. (Luke exits c. Saida enters l.I.e.) 

Sai. Mrs. Hamilton will come at once, sir. 

Gen. H. (Agitated.) No, Luke, I forgot— Oh! Saida, tell her 
that important business — official business — will keep me for 
a few moments. I will call you when I am at leisure. Go — 
(Enter Carmelita c. with the child, Dieppo.) (To Saida.) What 
are you standing there for? Go, at once! (Sternly.) (Saidaexits 
L.X e.) (Carmelita comes down l, kneels and embraces her 
child, then bursts into tears. Gen. H. sits at table, moves about 
uneasily — then rises and comes c. Col. Higby in room jr. over- 
hears conversation.) Carmelita, (tenderly) my poor girl, I have 
investigated the matter and I find that your lover — the man 
who should have been your husband and the father oi your 
boy — is dead! 

Car. (Shaking her head.) He is not dead. I will not believe 
it. 

Gen. H. It is an unwelcome truth, and sad news to give you. 
but, unfortunately, or fortunately perhaps, it has been proved 
to me by a friend of his, one who loved him as a brother. That 
friend is rich, and offers you, in the name of his dead friend all 
that he can — this money to support you and bring up your little 
boy. (Passes the money to Carmelita.) 

Cai;. Will this money buy this little boy a father — will tins 
money make me a wife — will this money give us both a rigbl 
to his father's name? (Passionately.) 

Gen. H. No, my poor girl, it will not. 

Car. Of what use is this money to me then? (Throwsit at 
the GencraV s feet.) I can buy nothing with it that we wish. You 
may thank his friends I never can. Dieppo, conn; here. (The 
boy runs to her side. Carmelita pushes back his hair from his 
forehead and shows the Letter II.) Do you see that mark? 

Gen. H. (Examining it.) Yes, how curious — it looks like a 



THE LETTER H. 13 

letter H. How came it there? Did your boy get that scar by ac- 
cident? 

Car. No, I burned that letter H in his flesh with my own 
hand. 

Gen. H. (Aside.) What a fiend! (To Carmelita.) How could 
a mother's heart allow a mother's hand to disfigure an innocent 
child in such a brutal way? 

Car. Because it was a mother's outraged heart that gave 
strength to a mother's hand to burn in her little boy's fiesh the 
letter H — so his mother might never forget the name of his 
father — never falter in her search for him, until (Mrs. Hamil- 
ton at balcony window L. overhears conversation,) kneeling at 
his feet as I do now, she could say, this is your child Horace 
Hamilton — look upon this brand of shame and refuse us justice 
if you dare. (A groan from Mrs. II. L.) 

Gen. H. (Drawing Carmelita c.) Hush, woman, do notspeak 
so loud. Your betrayer deceived you in more than you imag- 
ine. His name was not Horace Hamilton — that is my name! 
(Carmelita breaks away from him — looks at him for an instant, 
then rushes forward with Dieppo and fills on her knees before 
him.) 

Car. Then you are lie! (Laughs hysterically.) This is your 
boy! My little Dieppo, this is your father — 

Gen. H. (Aside.) My God! Ibis is terrible. Madam, whether 
you are an honest but misguided woman or a bold adventuress, 
makes no difference to me now. You must leave this plac3 at 
once. (Aside.) If my wife should learn of this it would kill her 
and all my hopes. (To Carmelita.) Woman, you must go now, 
and never come here again. Do you hear. J 

Car. (To Dieppo, satiric ally.) Your father, Gen. Horace 
Hamilton, said he was dead, and gave us money — now, he says 
we must go away Dieppo an 1 never see him again. We will not 
go, will we, Dieppo? we have travelled too many miles, wept 
too many bitter tears to give him up so quickly — have we not, 
Dieppo? 

Gen. H. (Bunningto door c.) (Calls.) Luke! Luke! Burslem! 
Burslem! (TVte*/ enter hurriedly c. Gen. II. comes down stage in a 1 
passion and points to Carmelita and Dieppo.) Take them away! 
(Carmelita shrieks and throw'ng her arms about the General 
clings to him.) Take them away, I say. 

Luke. (Excited.) Wh-e-e-e-e-e-re to, Ma-a-a-ssa General? 

Gen. H. To the guard house — keep her there if you have to 
chain her — gag her if she won't stop her noise — Burslem you 
take care of the boy. 

Car. Give me my boy— my Dieppo— you shall not take him 
from me. You may cut ine in pieces but you shall not steal my 
boy from me. (Gr-asps Dieppo.) 

Gen. H. Put them both in the guard house then — and quick 
too — (Luke and Burslem drag Carmelita and Dieppo out c. she 



14 THE LETTER H. 

resisting and shrieking. As they exit, enter Col. Higby from door 
R.) Henry, this is terrible. 

Col. H. Horace, it is. I have heard every word. That letter 
H — burned in that poor boy's head — what a fiendish idea— but 
Genera], you have gone so far, you must keep on to — 

Gen. H. The bitter end? 

Col. H. No, the worst is over. Send her back to Mexico and 
you will never hear anything from her — {Eider Mrs. Hamilton 
hastily l.I.e.) 

Mes. II. Why Horace, what were those dreadful shrieks I 
heard just now— (Sees Col. II. and stops L. C.) 

Gen. H. My darling, my old college chum and life long friend. 
Col. Henry Higby — (Mrs. II. bows — Col. II. advances and 
bows.) 

Col. H. Do not misunderstand your husl and, I beg of you, 
Mrs. Hamilton — I was not the cause of tbose shrieks — but a, 
drunken soldier in a slide of delirium who intruded into this 
rocm and was forcibly taken to the guard house. 

Mbs. H. They sounded like a woman's shrieks. (Gen. II. 
starts.) 

Col. II. (With none] alance.) Did they? They may have at a 
distance, but in this room they sec mid to me as being worthy of 
a full grown man. (Enter BursUvn c.) 

Gen. H. (Turning suddenly.) From Col. Duncan? 

Bi'Rs. Yts. sir, his legimtnt is ready to move — but the Col- 
onel was taken down with ague an hour ago. 

Gen. H. (To Col. II.) Then. Higby, I will send you in bis 
place. It is your old regiment, the "Jijth— say good-bye to Mis. 
Hamilton and meet me at the station in ten minutes. 

Col. H. Well and good— my luggage is at the station now- 
where I left it on my arrival. Good-bye, Horace. 

Gen. H. Good-lye. Henry. (They chop hands. Gen. II. and 
Bvrslem exit c.) 

Col. II. I shall lose my dinner after all. Being a soldier is 
fulh' as sad a life as being a bachelor. I must many again and 
settle down. 

Mls. II. Why don't you? 

Col. H. Your husband advises such a course, and even flat- 
ters me by saving he knows several young ladies who would 
not scorn my petition. 

Mes. H. Look out, Col. Higby. that lie don't palm off upon 
you any of his old flames. 

Col. H. Old flames! (Astonished.) AVhy Horace never bad 
any — you are his first and last love, he says. Few husbands inn 
comfort their wives wdth a like assertion. 

Mes. H. Wives are sometimes credulous enough to believe 
all their husbands tell them. I, of course, am bound to think 
my husband a saint, if he says so. 

Col. H. (Aside.) Hardly the Paradise that Horace painted. 



THE LETTER H. 15 

(2*0 Mrs. H.) If he told me he was a saint I should believe 
him. 

Mrs. H. Col. Higby,you are what my husband is not, a man 
of the world. You have a witty speech, a sharp retort or a dex- 
terous touch of flattery always at your tongue's end. Pardon 
me, I am not a woman of the world as far as experience goes, 
but I have that intuition which all women have, only in our 
Creole race it reaches its highest point of perception. I can read 
you, and I know you do not think my husband a saint, but you 
are too good a friend— and man's friendship unlike woman's 
lives through ill repute — I say you are too good a friend to say 
any thing to his discredit. 

Col. II. I could not if I would. But madam, your language — 

Mrs. H. I know what you would say. You wish to intimate 
that I am not acting with propriety, but that does not disturb 
or restrain me, under the present circumstances. I understand 
you — if you do not fathom my purpose. You would not say a 
word against my husband if you could. 

Col. H. J\o, Mrs. Hamilton, I would not! 

Mrs. II. Thank 30U for your frankness. I knew as much be- 
fore you spoke. Well and good — if you prefer that I should be 
governed by suspicion rather than (ell me the truth, allow me 
to differ with you as to the quality and value of your friendship 
for my husband. 

Col. H. Madam, what do you mean? What is your purpose? 

Mrs. H. To learn the truth if it kills me — (aside) and it will. 
Col. Higby, do you know the name of the man who betrayed 
that Mexican girl — the father of that boy? You see, I know 
something already. 

Col. H. The father is dead. 

Mrs. H. Col. Higby, that is a falsehood! 

Col. H. Madam — 

Mrs. II. The agony of the moment must excuse plain words. 
You know he lives. I know he lives. Dare you raise your right 
hand before God and take your oath that the father of that boy- 
is dead? 

Col. H. I can — 

Mrs. H. Think twice before you speak — and remember a 
Creole is never satisiied with one man's word. Can you take the 
oath? Before Heaven I believe that if you lie to me a brand as 
indelible as that letter H will be burned in your heart — aye, it 
will show in your face. Will you take the oath? 
(Enter Burslem c. Be salutes Col. Higby.) 

Burs. The regiment is passing, sir. (Music.) 

Col. H. I will be there in an instant. ( Waves his hand. Burs- 
lem exits c.) 

Mrs. H. Will you take the oath? 

Col. II. I have not the time. I cannot. I will not. Mrs. 
Hamilton, I am, as you say, a man of the world — but I am also 



16 THE LETTER H. 

a soldier— and when duty calls, I must forsake beaut}-— even if 
it is in distress. (Bows and exits C.) (Music of band outside. 
Mrs. H. totters and staggering across stage falls on sofa B.) {The 
music dies away. ) 

Mrs. H. (liaising her head, still sitting on sofa.) He knows 
me to be just what I am,— a humiliated, degraded, wretched 
wife; dishonored ami heartbroken. Every word he uttered was 
a stab at my heart. He did not know that I had heard all, but 
he did not dare to take that oath even to save his friend. After 
I am gone, Horace shall know how his friend betrayed him. 
(Iiising.) 1 must find that woman. I must look at that child 
again and see that fatal letter, high up under his dark curls. 
Yes, I will find him if I live. 1 will drag him into his father's 
presence, and lay bare the honid brand, and while his lather 
gazes upon it. 1 will fix my eyes on my saintly husband! (Puts 
her hand, to her forehead and reels backward as Let. ore enters c. 
and supports her. Mrs. II. recoils, then with a glad cry throws 
herself into her sister's arms. A pause.) 

Len. (Stepping back •■ from Mrs. II.) My poor darling— what 
is the matter? You mustn't act in this way. An n't you glad 
that Lenore has come to take care of you? 

MRS. H. I am glad you are here Lenore. Ccme to me. (Puis 
her head on Lenore' 1 s shoulder.) 1 must lelljyott, Lenoie, or my 
heart will break with its weight ot woe and despair. 

Len. (Aside.) Hysterics. (To Mrs. II.) Hoi us you must lie 
down and rest. A Utile sleep : nd you will soon be better. 
Mes. H. I shall never be well — never again Lenore. 
Len. Nonsense, Bonis, Horace and I with our lo\ing care 
will soon drive such thoughts away. 

Mrs. II. He? My Horace? (Laughs sardonically.) He has a 
little boy to love— he knew her before he did me— he bttraytd 
her— but she has found him. The boy is handsome and bright 
and he will love him. I can n member just how ihe little toy 
looks. I should know him among ten thousand. How fortunate 
that the brand was put upon him. The mother was a wist/ wo- 
man. She knows it will secure the child's safety and suppoit. 
There is practical justice in that. I will brand my child, ton. 
Len. Good Heavens. Dorus, are you mad, what do you mean? 
Mrs. H. (Fiercely.) I mean that child is a slander upon my 
name, a living reproach upon my life. It must be got rid of ! For 
the child to live — is a sin — to kill it must be a duty. It would 
be a virtue to destroy sin, would it not, Lenore? When that 
child is dead, then my honor will be vindicated. The child must, 
die, die, die! 

Len. My poor Dorus, where can Horace be? What lias he 
done? 

Mrs. H. Do you know Lenore when my baby is born it will 
be kin to that child — my pure, heaven-crowned baby will be a 
blood relation of that child of sin. No! No! this kniie (dr(<ws 



T HE LETTER H . 17 

a small silver paper knife in the shape of a dagger, from her 
bosom,) shall free my child from such afale. See, Lenore, how 
I eautitnl it is—an angel carved here upon the handle — mother 
gave it to inc. It is only a little silver knife — but the handle is 
strong. The hlade is small — but it is long enough to reach that 
child' 1 s heart! 

Len. My darling, you are preparing a terrible inheritance 
for your own child — planting the seeds of murder in its heart. 
{Aside.) Better, far better, if it never sees the light of day. 

Mrs. H. (With a burst of passion, pointing towards sofa R.) 
See, see, Lenore, there, do you not see him? There on the sofa. 
His mother has left him there. (Her eyes glare wildly.) (Enter 
Gen. H. c. He stands transfixed.) He lifts his curls from his 
forehead. There it is. I see it. That horrible letter H that his 
mother burned there, so that his father, my husband, might 
know his own child. (Mrs. H. screams, rushes forward, and 
stabs a pillow on the sofa several times with the knife — then throw- 
ing the knife up stage, totters c. and falls. Lenore lifts her head 
—Gen. H. comes down stage, the picture of despair. Mrs. H. 
opens her eyes, and puts one arm around Lenore s neck.) Put me 
to bed, Lenore, I ; m tired. Do not leave me alone, Lenore, 
will you? How dark it is! Where are you Lenore? (Mrs. H. 
falls back in a death-like swoon.) 

Gen. H. Lenore I know all, hut before God, I never saw this 
Mexican girl nor her child before to-day. I never was in Mexico 
and Carmelita says that her 1 etrayer met her in Mexico. 
(Hushes to door c.) Luke! Buislem! Bring that woman here, 
with her child. (Bushes back near Mrs. H.) Higby, my friend, 
knew this man— he is dead— he ha I heard Higby speak of me 
and the villain used my name to save his own from shame. 
Higby gave me the money in his friend's name — 

Len. Money? 

Gen. H. Yes, I offend it to her, 1 ut she refused it. I had 
sent for Dorus to meet Higby — and she must have overheard — 

Len. Where is this Higby? 

Gen. H. Gone North, with his regiment — but he shall come 
and prove my innocence, bring back my darling wife to love 
and happiness. (Luke and Burshm bring in Carmelita and 
Dieppo.) This man was my best friend. (Takes out picture from 
pocket and looks at it) but he has, 1 hope to Heaven uninten- 
tionally, done me this grievous wrong. (Throws picture up 
stage near Carmelita.) I cannot look upon his face again. (Le- 
nore lifts Mrs. H. and tries to revive her. Gen. H. kneels before 
Mrs. H. and looks tenderly into her face. Mrs. H. opens her eyes 
and looks at her husband.) 

Mrs. H. Horace, J have killed him! Are you sorry that I did 
it? I would not live in the same world with that terrible letter 
H before my eyes. Our little child will have no brother, now. 

Gen. H. Lenore, what will save her? Will she go mad? 



18 THE LETTEE H. 

Lek. Unless we con prove your innocence to her, I fear the 
worst. (Carmelita, during tie alove, has stood gazing in aston- 
ishment. The child, Dieppo, picks up the picture of Higby and 
carries it to Carmelita. She tales, gives one glance, and with a 
scream, breaks from Lule and Burshm and rushes down stage 
with the picture in her hand.) 

Car. (Pointing to picture.} His is the man. This is Horace 
Hamilton, the father of my toy! (Carmelita imbraces Dieppo, 
who runs to her.) 

Mrs. H. (Struggling to her feet.) She here? I must kill her, 
as I did the toy. Give me ihelnife. (ISees Lit}}o.) My God! 
see the toy! : Tis his ghost. 1 tilkd him with the Inife. You 
saw me do it Ltnoie. There he is! Alive? Ko bleed? Give me 
the tnife! (31rs. JJ. starts torush icuatds Carmelite — then with 
a loud shriek falls prostrate c.) 

Gin. H. The words that should have shown my truth to her 
— have pioved me guilty, and killed my wife. Etnry Higby,! 
cuise j(u ior the ruin jtn have trrught to my happy home. 

Lr>!. Mypcor sipltr. G<d Ltlj hir+ici if fche livtsaturse 
will tail ni on her cwn child. (Saida enters C.) 

— TABLEAU. — 

CURTAIN. 



EC( NI) TABLEAU. 



[Roll of drums — curtain rises — a file of Confederate soldiers 
are at back of stage. An ( fficer takes Gen. HSs sword, which 
tie latter extends to him. lule behind ioja. taidu Ineeh beside 
Mrs. H. Caimelita clas% .s JDi<j ] o in hir aims end (xits thiough 
wit dew opening on lahony. Remainder of picture as before."] 

SECOND CURTAIN. 
END OF THE PROLOG VE. 



THE LETTER H. 19 

ACT I. 



Scene I. — Exterior of Mr. Hamilton's rcsvhnn at Saratoga, 
eighteen years later — July, 1881. Garden scene on fiat. 

{When curtain rises, Jimmy, the son of Luke and Saida, is dis- 
covered seated on steps of house L, eating an apple. Enter hastily, 
r.it;e. Dr. Burslem who comes down near rustic scat R. Looks 
around.) 

Dr. B. This must be the place. I shall be delighted to see my 
old General. Poor Hamilton had a sad experience, and, to think 
it possible — I haven't seen him since that terrible day eighteen 
years ago. (Sees Jimmy.) Ah, young man, who lives here? 

Jim. Ma-a-a-a-! 

Dr. B. Well, who's ma-a-a-a-? 

Jim. She-e-e-s Ma-a-a-a-! 

Dr. B. (Laughing.) Well, sonny, run and lell your ma-a-a-a 
I want to see her. (Jimmy runs out l.I.e.) His ma-a-a must be 
one of the servants. Hisbleat was particularly lamb like. Phew! 
(Takes off hat and scratches his head.) Ma-a-a-? That reminds 
me of Gen. Hamilton's old stuttering servant — Luke, 1 think 
his name was— (Enter Said t L.l.E. — bows.) 

Sai. Did you wish to see me. sir? 

Dr. B. I wished to inquire if Gen. Horace Hamilton lives 
here, and also if you ever knew an old servant of his named 
Luke — who was with the General in Louisiana a good many 
years ago. 

Sai. Gen. Hamilton does live here, sir — and — Luke — (Laugh 
heard offstage R.) there he is now.— (Goes up stage.) Here, 
Luke, come here — a gentleman wants to see you. (Saida comes 
down L, again, as Luke enters R. u. v.. with basket on arm — Dr. 
B. goes r.) 

Dr. B. Luke, how do you do? (Advances, extending hand.) 

Luke. I'm pr-e-e-t-iy we-e-1 1 sir! 

Dr. B. Your old infirmity still clings to you, I see. 

Luke. (Looking at himself. ) Ye-e-s sir. I've h-a-a-d the rheu- 
mat-i-i-i-sm pr-e-e-t-t-y bad, sir. Go-o-t it down in Lou-Lou-is- 
isi-an. 

Dr. B. Luke, you don't remember me, do you? 

Luke. Ca-a-a-n't say I do-o-o, sir. Never remember a-a-ny 
body I don't kn-o-o-w. 

Dr. B. Don't you remember Burslem, the soldier who was 
on guard the day Gen. Hamilton was captured by the Confeds 
at ThiboJeauxville? 

Luke. Deed I do-o-o, sir. You don't me-e-e-an for to s-a-a-y 
you are him. 



20 THE LETTER H. 

Dr. B. I am the same man, only I am now Dr. Burslem, 
and a citizen of Louisiana — I should say New Orleans. 

Luke. (Going to Saida.) Sa-a-ida why do-o-nt you speak io 
the D-o-o-ctor? (To Dr. B.) Of co-o-o-urse you kno-ow Saida — 
she's my w-i-i-fe now. 

Dr. B. (Advancing to Saida.) No, I must confess I didn't 
recognize her and she didn't know me. So you decided to get 
married alter all. 

Sai. Yes, sir. After all that hapj ened we were very lonely, 
and we didn't like to be separated. We came North together — 
and — we got married, sir. We found out where Gen. Hamilton 
lived and he hired us bolh as servants. I am housekeeper — and 
Luke is man — of — all — work. 

Dr. B. Luke didn't use to be a man of all work. He used to 
like more than half fun — 

Luke. Rheu ma-t-i-i-i-sm take all the t-i i-i-me 1 have for 
fu-u-n, and the children keep Saida bu-u-sy. 

Dr. B. Then you have two, or more? I saw one. 
Sai. That was Jimmy. (Voice heard off L.l.E. crying Pa-a-a!) 
Dr. B. There he is. 
SAf. No, sir. Thai's Johnny. 
Dr. B. They both resemble their father then. 
Luke. (With a grin.) Pe-e-e-rfeet pi-i-i-ctures? (Luke exits 
T...1.E. with basket.) 

Dr. B. Is Gen. Hamilton at home? 

Sai. No, sir. He went to New York yesterday to meet his 
daughter and her Aunt Lenore who are coming in the steamer 
from Europe. They in iv be here today — we expect them— but 
perhaps not until to-morrow. (Enter Luke L.l.E.) 

Dr. B. (Sitting on rustic bach R.) What is the daughter's 
name? - 

Luke. Do-o-o-o-rus. 

Dr. B. Her mother's name. Do you know that Mrs. Hamil- 
ton's illness was the cause of my bt coming a doctor? 
Sai. Miss Clifton said you was going to be one. 
Dr. B. Yes, how plainly it all comes back to me. The General 
a prisoner of war, Mrs. Hamilton insane— the confeds didn't 
care to be burdened with her — so Miss Clifton, her poor sist el- 
and I were sent to New Orleans — where we found a private 
insane asylum. There the unfortunate lady gave birth to little 
Dorus — and died the same night in her sister's arms. (Luke and 

Saida affected.) When the child was six months old, Lenore 1 

mean Miss Clifton, took her ftorth. The doctor who conducted 
the asylum took a fancy to me — gave me instruction— fitted me 
for college— I was graduated an M. D.— settled in New Orleans 
and make a specialty of mental diseases. Is the General in o- od 
health ? 

Sai. Yes, sir, but he has been very lonesome with Miss 
Dorus away. But he will be happy now with his daughter. She's 



THE LETTER H. 21 

the very picture of her mother who was but two years older 
when she died than Miss Bonis is now. It will be almost like 
having the wife back again. 

Dr. B. (Looking at watch.) I must go now. I am attending 
the Conference of Chanties — and I read a paper on Hereditary 
Manias at three o'clock. Give my best regards to Gen. Hamilton 
and tell him I will be sure to see him before 1 go home. (Dr. 
B. exits R.U.E.) 

Luke. Wh-a-a-t did he s-aa-y about p-u-u-t-t-ing paper on 
red he-e-aded Mary's.'' 

Sai. I don't know, but you haven't got it right. 

Luke. Ye-e-s, it was— red h-e-e-aded — 

Sai. Now, Luke, don't try to say it again, because you will 
get all tangled up and I can't help you out, as I usually do, and 
don't say it be lore the children— they always try to say just 
what you do— and they can't — 

Luke. Ye-e-s they ca-a-n. 

Sai. They can't I say. I'm their mother and I know what 
they can do and I know what they can't do. Both our boys put 
together couldn't say what you just tried to. 

Luke. Lo-o-okhere, Sa-a-a-ida, both of our boys shall s-a-a-y 
red he-e-e-aded Mary's just as I do. (A loud, ringing laugh heard, 
K. and Dorus enters hastily, stringing her hit in her hand. She 
espies Luke and Saida. ) 

Dor. Why, Luke and Saida how glad I am to see you both. 
(Shakes hands with them. ) I know I am at home when I see 
your dear, good, kind faces. And how is the boy? 

Luke. Wh-i-i-ch? 

Dou. Which? What, more than one? 

Sai. Two, miss. 

Luke. Tw-o-o-o o, Ji-i-i-mmy and John-n-u-y. 

Dor. Aunt Lenore and papa are coming, but I ran away 
from them, so as to have a first sight at the old home, all by 
myself. Come, Saida, come with me to see my room, and you 
Luke, find the boys, — I'll be down to see them in a minute. 
(Dorus and Saida enter house door l. Dorus laughing — Luke goes 
X..1.E. smiling.) 

Luke. Mi-i-i-ghty fi-i-i-ne gi-i-i-rl. (Exits l.I.e.) (Enter Mr. 
Hamilton and Lenore, r.u.e.) 

Mr. H. Did you hear that laugh, Lenore? What a merry, 
light-hearted girl she is. How she will brighten up this old house 
— where I have seen so many desolate days since she, since you 
both went away. 

Len. That sounds better — of course you have missed me as 
well as Dorus? (Laughs.) 

Mr. H. I did, Lenore — but my loss was my daughter's gain 
and that reconciled me to the double deprivation. But, seriously, 
Lenore, there are no signs of mental disorder in Dorus, are 
there? 



22 THE LETTER H. 

Len. Nothing pronounced — as yet. May Heaven grant that 
the curse will be averted. 

Mr. H. Amen! 

Len. So speaks the loving father's heart. The practical aunt 
must say, however, that Dorus is often moody and fretful; she 
has something on her mind of which she will not speak even to 
me — 

Mr. H. Love's young dream — (Lenore shakes her head) per- 
haps not real, some ideal love. Girl's fancies run that way at 
first, and many an unhappy wife to-day is herself to blame for 
not working to bring her husband up to her ideal of romantic 
manliness rather than blaming him because he is not ready- 
made to match her pattern. 

Len. What a philosopher you are, even on love matters. 
But I must go and find Dorus. (Exit Lenore into hou'se L.) (Mr. 
Hamilton sits- on rustic seat R.) 

Mr. II. Yes, I can philosophize on other's love affairs, but 
philosophy has not dulled the sting in my heart, nor healed the 
wound. (Buries his face in his hands. Enter U on. Henry Itiyby 
r.u.e. enmes down tf> door of house, turns and sees Hamilton.) 

HlG. Horace. 

Mr. II. (Looking ujp.) Ah, Henry, glad to see you. (Rises 
and shakes hands with Hiijby.) 

Hig. Tears, Horace? Has Dorus come? (Mr. H. nods.) Of 
course she has. Then those are tears of joy for the happy pres- 
ent. 

Mr. H. I will be honest, Henry, no! They are tears of sor- 
row for the sad, the bitter past. 

Hig. Curse such women, say I. That Mexican was an adven- 
turess. Her every act proved it. She claimed you, when you 
said your name was Horace Hamilton; when you proved you 
could not be the one, at sight of my picture, she says / am the 
one — probably remembering having seen me with my friend. 
She was an adventuress, but not a dangerous one — for she was 
a bungler — 

Mr. II. Yes, but that bungling broke up my home, killed my 
wife, made me an old man in a year, — do you know, Henry, I 
never told you before, that in my despair I cursed you as the 
cause of all my woe? 

Hig. Horace, we will forget that; you have suffered, so have 
I. Your daughter lives — 

Mr. H. Yes, and she is the image of her mother — 

Hig. My son lives, and I have striven to make my Herman 
a better man than his father, and worthy of such a girl as Dorus. 
Horace, let us bury the unhappy past and think only of the 
present, rich in our children's love, and of the hopeful future, 
with all that means, for us all. (They clasp hands.) And now, 
what are you going to do this evening, at the reception? 

Ma. H. Only an informal gathering of friends to welcome 



THE LETTER H. 2$ 

Dorus and Lenore home — Is Hermnn coming? 

Hig. He will be here soon — he is (oo anxious to see Dorus to 
let anything keep him away. 

Mit. H. (Going L.) Ah, here they come. (Enter Dorus and 
Lenore from house L.) 

Hig. (Boivs, then advances.) L dies, welcome home — to 
America — in which fair land you will find no more devoted ad- 
mirer than myself. (They shake hands.) 

Dor. Which is the stronger passion in your breast, Mr.Higby, 
— devotion or admiral ion V 

Hig. At the present instant, each is struggling for Ihe 
mastery. 

Dor. Col. Higby, you are living in the wrong age — you are 
mediaeval — the incarnation of chivalric thoughts and dainty 
speeches. Aunty, aren't you sorry Col. Higby is so old? (Laughs.) 

Len. Colonel, she is a wild, wayward girl. 

Don. {Going to her /a£A-er.)Papa, will you allow Aunt Lenore 
to speak so of me before company? Do you think I am wayward 
papa? 

Ma. II. I know you are my blessing. (Embraces her.) 

Doit. There, do you hear that, Aunty? I am a blessing— to 
one man — I wonder if I shall ever be to .-mother? 

Hig. Of course you will — to Herman, for instance— my son. 
Have you forgotten him? Shouldn't you remember your old 
playmate? 

Don. I think so. I can't say positively, but I don't think I 
have forgotten him entirely, unless he has changed very much. 
What is he like, anyway? (Mr. II. and Lenore go up stage, in 
conversation.) 

Hig. Well, rather tall — or medium height — light complexion— 

Dor. I hate light complexioned people — 

Hig. Really, classic feaiures-^- 

Dou. Always in genteel repose, like a face carved in stone, I 
suppose. For my part it always smacks of Kalian imagery to 
speak of marble brows and alabaster noses. 

Hig. My dear young lady, you supply your own similes, and 
then find fault with me as though I was the author — 

Dor. It is a bad habit I learned in Paris, where people, you 
know, are so superficial that they are rarely sensitive to flattery. 
What is his hair — unless my memory is treacherous it was sus- 
piciously near a red — auburn, in the shade. 

Hig. Your memory is not reliable — it is a dark brown — 

Dor. And his temperament — is he as cross as you — can be? 

Hig. He is very gay — 

Dor. I detest gaiety — in a man. It usually denotes a weak, 
frivolous disposition. 



24 THE LETTER H. 

Hig. Your opinion of my son is unjust, because premature, 
and a father could hardly be expected to extol his virtues to 
one who should know them. (Aside.) The same curl of the lip 
that I remember in her mother. (To Dorus, with an assumption 
ofgayety.) After all, I believe you are glad he is coming. Now, 
tell me honestly, shall you not be pleased to see him? 

Dor. (With nonchalance.) Oh, no doubt he will prove quite 
amusing. 

Hig. (With a touch of anger.) Amusing! I have not educated 
him merely to amuse others. 

Dor. Why does he leave college? Is he finished? 

Hig. He has a vacation. 

Dor. Why don't you put him in the army? 

Hig. Why so? 

Dor. Because, when men are in the army, they are safely out 
of the way. 

Hig. (Turning away.) Hum! (Aside.) She don't like me. 
Her mother didn't. (Mr. Hamilton and Lenore come down stage.) 

Mr. II. Dorus, what did you think of Paris? 

Dor. It is magnificent. 

Mr. II. Did you make pleasant acquaintances there? 

Dor. Oh! yes — some of very high degree, the Count Mercenda, 
Lord Stanford, the poet Sanders, and Signor Brindelh, a musi- 
cal composer from Rome, were our most intimate frimds. 

Mr. II. What was the Count like? 

Dor. (Mock-heroically.) Eyes of a pale, bluish yellow — like 
the sky now above us — a forehead exactly one inch in height, 
and a mouth — yes, a mouth like an open sepulchre. (Laughs.) 

Lkn. Stop, Dorus, you know you are not speaking the truth. 
The Count is not handsome, but certainly he is far from being 
the ugly person you have pictured. 

Hig. Miss Dorus has a happy faculty of graphically misrep- 
resenting those gentlemen whom she has seen — it could hardly 
be expected that she would have a correct idea of my son whom 
she has not seen for seven years. 

Dor. (To her father.) Lord Stanford is a little more orna- 
mental than the Count. He is loosely jointed, like an acrobat, 
and has white eyes. His chin is more modest than the Count's 
forehead. It could be doubled to advantage. His manners when 
he leaves a room are charming. I was delighted whenever I saw 
him reaching for his hat, he did it with such a lordly air, you 
know. 

Hig. How about the poet? Was he supremely amusing? 

Dor. I should have liked the poet, but for one thing. He had 
an agonizing nose. 

Mr. H. (Laughing.) An agonizing nose? What sort of nose 
is that? 

Len. Horace, you ought not to encourage the child in using 
such objectionable expressions about people — it is not right. 



THE LETTER H. 25 

HlG. (Aside.) Evidently a tender spot. 

Dor. Don't mind her, papa. She dotes on poets in general, 
but on Raphael Sanders in particular. His masterpiece was an 
ode to a cauliflower. 

Len. Dorus, for shame. 

Dor. Beg pardon, Aunty, you said his poems were delightful 
—I didn't read them — they were usually about flowers and veg- 
etables — my poet is Shakespeare — he wrote about men and wo- 
men. 

Mr. H. Come, Lenore, we are no match for Dorus — and I 
can't be cross to her on her first day at home. We'll go and su- 
perintend the preparations for our gala time this evening. What 
could we do without you, Lenore? (Mr.H. and Lenore exit into 
house L.) 

Hig. Do you think your Aunt will ever marry, Miss Dorus? 

Don. Many? No indeed. Do you think I would allow such a 
thing? I couldn't exist Without Aunty. I wouldn't give her up 
except to the best man living — so don't you be silly enough to 
lift an eye in that direction. It would be useless, I assure you. 

Hio. (With signs of vexation.) Can't a man ask a harmless 
question but you must fly in his face like that? Don't be afraid, 
I am not a marrying man — 

Don. I'm happy to hear it. 

Hig. (Taking out cigar.) Do you object to smoke? 

Doi?. To speak frankly, Mr. Higby, I have often found the 
smell of a cigar far less objectionable than the company of the 
smoker. (Col. 11. replaces cigar in pocket.) 

Hig. (Aside.) She is sharper than her mother was. (Music 
heard, off stage. Dorus strangely excited. Col. H. walks up and 
down stage excitedly.) 

Hig. What can Luke be thinking of? Why don't he send 
that vagabond street musician about his business? 

Dor. He is attending to his business in a perfectly legitimate 
manner. 

Hig. I beg to differ. Making day and night hideous with cheap 
music vilely played is not legitimate labor. 

Dor. I beg to differ. All honest labor is legitimate. Any- 
thing is better than begging. You said so in one of your speeches 
when you were nominated for Congress, — but that was before 
election. That poor man may have a sick mother or a large fam- 
ily to support. If he comes this way, I shall give him some 
money. 

Hig. Excuse me, Miss Hamilton, if I take an abrupt depart- 
ure. I should enjoy discussing questions of political and social 
economy with you, but the fact is I have a surfeit of it in Con- 
gress, where great minds have made it a life long study. (Aside.) 
I'll take good care that he don't come this way. (Exit Col. H. 

R.U.E.) 

Dor. That was the polite, parliamentary way of telling me 



26 THE LETTER H. 

that 1 didn't know anything about political and social economy. 
{Musk stops.) {Enter Luke and Jimmy l.I.e.) 

Luke. {To Jimmy.) S-a-a-y good a-a-a-fternoon to the lady, 
and m-a-a-ke ab-o-o-w? (Luke strikes Jimmy in the back.) 
Jim. (Jumping up and down.) G-o-o-o-o-d — 
Dor. Why, what ails him? 

Luke. He st-a-a-mmers sometimes Miss, and so I wh-i-ip 
him for it, so-o-o he jumps to get the w-o-o-rds out stra-a-ight. 
Dor. Poor little boy— come here— (Jimmy goes to Dorus.) I 
hope your brother Johnny don't stammer, too. 

Luke. Y-e-e-s he does— but J-i-i-i-mmy is the w-o-o-rst of 
a-a-all of us. (Cry offstage L.I.E.— "Luke, Luke.") 

Luke. You'll have to BC-u-se us Miss, for Saida is c-a-a-lling 
me, and when I he-e-e-ar her voice I kn-o-o-w it means busi- 
ness. C-o-o-o-me Jimmy. (They exit L.I.E.) (Music heard 'off R. 
again. Dorus listens intently— rises, goes R. then returns L. and 
sits, covering her face withherhands. Enter Lenore from house l.) 
Len. Why, Dorus, what's the matter— crying? 
Dor. (Looking up.) No, dreaming. 
Len. Of what? 

Dor. It wasn't a rhinoceros nor a windmill. 
Lev. Of whom, then'? 
Dor. My future husband. 
Len. Who is he, dear— Herman Iligly? 
Dor. No, not Herman Higby. The one of whom I was dream- 
ing I never saw — nor did I ever hear his name, — 

Len. Then how are you to know him were you to meet? 
Dor. No fear of that. I should know him among ten thou- 
sand. (Dorus covers her face again with her hands.) 

Len. (r.) How those words come hack to me — " I should 
know him among ten thousand." Hermother spoke them eight- 
een years ago. (Looking at Dorus.) May she never meet the 
poor unfortunate being whom her frantic mother was so long- 
ing to behold, aye, longing to destroy. (Music stops.) 

Dor. (Rising, coming to her Aunt Lenore.) Aunty, I'm in a 
confidential mood, to-day. I'll tell you all I know about him, if 
you will listen and won't laugh at me. 

Len. Does a true mother ever laugh at her daughter's confi- 
dences? 

Dor. (Embracing Lenore.) Do you know, Aunty. I think I 
must have met him in some of the past ages of the world. We 
may have stood together when the Queen of Sheba arrived at 
King Solomon's gates, and while my hero was, it may be, ad- 
miring her beauty and grandeur — I had eyes for none but him 
— or he may have been Pompeii's king, andJhis slave, (muses.) 
Len. (Aside.) The curse will work its course. I'll try her. 
(To Dorus.) And when you think of this unknown hero, as you 
call him, is it with feelings of hatred — or — 

Dor. (Passionately.) Hatred? Can a woman hate her own 



THE LETTE II H . 27 

soul? He has grown into my life, he is a part of myself. Awake 
or sleeping that fact; comes to me. The lips are motionless, but 
i he eyes seem to say, we shall meet — and, when we do, be he 
king or beggar, I shall love him, and — (with a loud, hysterical 
laugh) hut, what nonsense it all is, isn't it, Aunty — don't mind 
me, will you? (Puts her head on her aunt's shoulder.) 

Lex. (Tenderly.) Young girls are apt to talk nonsense— but 
they out-grow it and you must. Dismiss such strange fancies — 
they can do you no good — and may do you much harm by lead- 
ing you to refuse an honest, tangible love such as Herman 
Higby can give you. (Dorus sits and covers her face again. Le- 
nore with a deprecating look exits l. into house. A pause. Music 
heard, then slowly dies awn/. Dorus agitated. Enter Herman, 

R.U K.) 

Her. (In a whisper.) Doras V 

Don. Who art thou, unhidden guest, that with so mute a 
s J e:) and bated breath dosl steal upon me unawares? 

Her. (Coming foriv-.trd— -natur.il tone of voice.) 1 am he, to 
I real h whose name. is. I trust, a pleasure. 

Don. That voice recalls a dream of other days — one I thought 
forgotten. 

I" er. Dosl know me lady? 

Dor. 'Tis he who his been exile 1 an 1 proscribed so long — 
Herman, the Count de Hi«.rl y. 

Her. (Coining before Dorus.) Look upon my altered mien 
and s;iy if I am he — 

Dor. (Looking vp, for first time since his entrance.) Avaunt! 
thou bearded youth — hou art not Herman — 

Her. (Looking at Dorus admiringly.) But thou art Dorus — 
only more beautiful than ever — {.They shake hands. Herman sits 
beside Dorus.) 

Dor. "What improvement there has been in my personal ap- 
pearance, I can assure you my disposition and temper have not 
profited by. 

Her. I hope we shall not quarrel as we did when we were 
children. I know we shall he the hest of friends. 

Dor. Don't be too sure of that, Mr. Higby, I have not for- 
gotten how you once pinched my poor kitten's ears until it was 
black in the face, and also how you, with the most heartless 
cruelty seemed to delight in sticking pins in my doll's eyes. 

Her. Pray excuse my being so bold as to remind you that 
the kitten in question was a black one, and its face was not sus- 
ceptible of the marked change you mention; as for the doll's 
eyes I considered them useless appendages, and moreover a 
vulgar burlesque on the genuine article, being made of black 
thread. 

Dor. Your long postponed explanation and defence do not 
change the fact that your acts were meant to afflict me. It was 
I, sir, and not the kitten or doll that drew forth your vindic- 



/ 



28 THELETTEEH. 

tiveness, and I warn you, sir, the injury was not forgotten and 
never will be forgiven. 

Her. (Taking Dorus'' hand.) The loving heart takes pleasure 
in forgiving the injury that a loving hand may have inflicted. 
Dorus, my child love has become a man's passion. For years I 
have loved an ideal only to find the real more beautiful than my 
imperfect fancies had painted. 

Dor. Well, I like that. I was afraid I might find you a sensi- 
ble youth in which case my little schemes might have gone a- 
begging. 

Her. If I were sensible I would become a fool for your sake, 
Dorus, and let my good sense and } r our schemes go a-begging 
together. 

Dor. As much as to say that good sense could not be under- 
stood by me. (Sternly.) Young man, have you seen your father 
since your return? 

Her. I have not. My heart led me to you. 

Dor. Well, now let your filial respect lead you to your father, 
who is as anxious to see you as — 

Her. You are to have me go? 

Dor. Hardly, — but — I told you my disposition had a sharp 
edge — I am tired — I shall see you again — (Herman takes her 
hand) this evening. (Herm m exits r.u.e. — gazing at Dorus who 
sits R. aud muses.) How can I mingle with that gay throng 
to-night, with my heart so out of tune with the world? I have 
but one thought, one desire — to find him! (Rises, goes l. Music 
heard again — Dorus agitated. She rushes R. as Carmelita enters 
L.l.E. They regard each other, Carmelita finally advancing to 
Dorus, who retreats, then stops.) 

Car. Pretty lady, can I tell your fortune — 

Dor. How much will it cost ? 

Car. (With a shrug.) As little or as much as you wish— 
twenty-five cents — a dollar — 

Dor. And for that trifle you will tell me what I know a life 
of misery and suffering only can reveal? No, I will have none 
of your fortunes— but, (listening) I will pay you well if you can 
tell me one thing— what is that melody we hear, and who is the 
musician? 

Car. One of our national airs — one that I always loved — 

Dor. And the musician — do you know him? 

Car. He is my son. 

Dor. Your son? How fortunate! There, take that. It will pay 
you better than fortune telling. (Gives Carmelita money.) J 
wish to see your son. Send him to me, at once. 

Car. Here, lady? 

Dor. Yes, here. Why do you question me? I am the mis- 
tress here, and can receive whom I please. (Carmelita bows, 
exits r.I.e.) A blind fate leads me on. That music seems to 
pull at my heartstrings. I must have heard it before, and yet 1 



THE LETTER H. 29 

cannot remember when. What folly lo send for this street mu- 
sician — no, it is not foolish — it cannot be the one I hope it is — 
and, if it is not, then my mind will be at ease. Oh, why doesn't 
he come? (Bushes L. turns and faces r. as Dieppo enters K.l.E. 
Dorus regards him with, a look of pleased recognition.) 

Dikp. Lady, I am here. (Dorus does not speak but regards 
him with admiration.) 
Don. (Aside.) It is he! 

Diep. Lady, how can I serveyou? (Dorus advances, then re- 
treats — covers her face, and looks l. Dieppo steps forward, then 
turns and goes slowly R. as if to exit. Dorus turns, rushes P.) 

Dob. Sir! Sir! (Dieppo stops — lurvs.) I sent — I desire — I 
wish to know if you are in need of money. 
Diep. I am in need of all that I can honestly earn, lady. 
Don. I wish (o help you — hire is money (offers it) take it- 
phase. 

Diep. I cannot lake money from you as a gift, lady. I am 
able to work. 

Don. Have you any one but yourself to support? 
Diep. My mother, lady. 
. Don. (Aside.) Ah! yes! his mother. She is his mother. (To 
Dieppo.) Yes, I saw your mother — and she too is obliged to — 
work. Take this, then (offers money) as a present for her, with 
my good wishes. 

Diep. (Bows — tikes money.) Thank you — she will bless you, 
and pray for you, kind lady. ( Turns to go.) 
Dor. Will you not tell me your name? 
Diep. My mother calls me Dieppo. 

Dor. (Extending her hand. ) Will you not say good-bye? 
Diep. Pardon me, kin 1 lady, but my h nd must not touch 
yours. Yours is like the lily— mine are hard and rough, aud 
blackened by the dust of the street. 

Dor. (Impulsively.) But the risk is mine. (Seizes his hand in 
both of hers.) 

Diep. (Drawing b<( -k.) Be careful lady, my clothes will soil 
your pure, white dres-s. 

Dor. (Placing her hand upon Dieppe's coat.) Oh, I wish my 
dress was ragged and soiled like this— that my face was browned 
with the sun, that my hands were hard and black like yours — 
Then, I could go with you — and you could play and I would 
sing — If I were a peasant girl with a coarse dress and heavy 
shoes, then, I could speak — then I would dire to tell you how 
much — (rushes L — Dieppo advances a step.) Oh, Dieppo — go, 
leave me — leave me! (Dieppo looks, then exits.) Stay! come 
back! (Going r. looking off.) He has gone! I drove him away 
with my rash words.— (sin ks on rustic, seat.) O, I would that 
this were but a dream— that I might wake and find it so— but 
(looking around) no, it is a miserable reality. (Coming c.) I, 
Dorus Hamilton, the educated daughter of a rich and noble 



30 THE LETTER H. 

father, called him here, forced his unwilling hands into mine, 
and said words that brought a blush even to his sun-browned 
cheeks — ignorant and coarse and low as he is. What is this 
horrid infatuation? Am I the victim of a curse? Did that for- 
tune teller put me under a spell — did she lie to me when she 
said he was her son? No, for he has a mother— and she sent 
him to me. He reproached me, but so gently, and kindly- 
Heaven bless him. Does he pity me — or look upon me with 
contempt? And, I shall never see him again — I must! He is my 
fate, my destiny. {Turning to house.) Oh! father— aunty, pray 
for your child — your unhappy Dorus. (Looks L. as if to see if 
she is watched — then exits quickly R.l.E.) 

Scexe II. — A Path in the W< ols. 

(Enter Dorus R. looking, as if in search of some one. She goc* 
L. — looking off l, when Dieppo enters R. with a handkerchief in 
his hand.) 

Diep. I found this, lady, in the path. (Dorus turns, recog 
nizes Dieppo and advances it. towards him) It is yours, I think. 
Dor. (Taking it.) Yes, it is mine. I must have dropped if. 
Thank you. (Dieppo starts to go L. They cross.) Stay, please. 1 
wish to speak with you Dieppo. (Bursts into tears.) What can 
you think of me? 

DlEP. You are weeping. 

Dor. Yes, I am weeping — bitter tears of shame and remorse. 
Tell me, Dieppo, do you think me mad — or base? 
Diep. I think you neither, lady. You are in grief. 
D jr. You have a man's intelligence — a man's thoughts 
There is a look of keen perception in your eyes. I have gone 
too far to recall my words, or explain my actions — but, tell me 
plainly now, what did you think of what I said and did after 
you left me, a short time ago? Speak, I entreat you. 

Diep. (Hesitating.) You were, peihaps, amusing yourself. 
Dor. (Astonished.) At your expense? 

Diep. I do not know, but, if you were, it don't matter. T 
don't pretend to understand, or find fault with a lady's moods. 
Dor. (Aside.) He is right. I do not understand them my- 
self. (Dieppo starts to go L.) Stay, Dieppo, I have a favor to 
ask of you; if you will grant it, it will enable me to prove thai 
I have never intended to make fun of you — will you grant it? 

Diep. I dare not promise, lady. It might not be in my power 
to do as you wish. 

Dor. Dieppo, I am as you no doubt think a lady of strange 
moods and fancies. You must not be surprised at what I am 
going to ask you to do this evening. There is to be a party at 
my father's house — the one where you first met me. It is a 
welcome home for me, his only daughter, for I have just re- 



THE LETTER H. 31 

turned from Europe. I want you to be present this evening — 
will you come? 

Diep. I must not lady. It is for the rich and high-born 
people, not for such as me. (Regards himself.) They would not 
let me in. 

Dor. They would never refuse admittance to any gentleman 
whom J invited — 

Diep. A gentleman, no— but who would call Dieppo the mu- 
sician a gentleman-^ when they saw the clothes — they would set 
the dogs on me. (Laughs satirically.) 

Don. I thought you were a brave man, Dieppo. 

Diep. (Proudly.) I am brave enough to meet the dogs, lady, 
and kill them, but I have not the courage to meet the laughs 
and sneers of the rich people — for I cannot kill them! (Turns 
away.) 

Dor. (Musing.) Dieppo, I have set my heart upon your being 
there to-night. I have a plan, which, if you will follow implic- 
itly, will save you from all danger from dogs, or those whom 
you fear more, ladies and gentlemen. You are an Italian? 

Diep. No, lady, my father — I mean — my mother and myself 
are Mexicans. 

Don. I have travelled much, an 1 I thought you an Italian. 
Others will think so, if you say 3 our name is Signor Brindelli 
— now, remember, Signor Art uro Brindelli. — Now what is your 
name? 

Diep. Dieppo. 

Dor. (Laughing.) Yes, of course it is — but to-night, what is 
it to be — can you remember? 

Diep. To please the lady's fancy — it will be Signor Arturo 
Brindelli. 

Dor. Capital, you s iy it just as he did. 

Diep. He? Who? 

Dor. Why, the real Signor Brindelli whom I met in Italy. 
Now, you will come, will you not, as my guest, my equal — nay, 
my superior? Thinkyourself, for this one night, an Italian gen- 
tleman. Imagine me a poor peasant girl. 

Diep. Ah! lady, it will be impossible to imagine you any- 
thing but what you are — rich and beautiful. 

Dor. Rich — and you are poor. I had forgotten. Take this — 
(offers purse.) if you are to be an Italian gentleman, you must 
dress like one. You must take it. (Puts pur se in Dieppo'' s hand.) 
This opportunity will never come again to you or me. To night 
we must forget everything but the enjoyment of our new-found 
— but alas! short-lived happiness. But, you will not fail me — 

Diep. I will come. (Dieppo bows and exits L.) 

Dor. (Passionately.) Cruel, relentless destiny! you are un- 
just, unmerciful. What have I done that my life should be 
brightened but for one blissful hour and then cursed and 
blighted forever. (Weeps convulsively.) (Enter Lenore R. She 
rushes to Dorus.) 



32 THE LETTER II. 

Lex. Dorus! Dorus! (Puts arms about her.) Weeping, my 
darling, what is it? Are you ill— or only frightened? What has 
happened? You were not alone. I saw some one leaving you 
as I came along the path. (Looking r.) Did he insult you? 
Who was he and what did he say to you? Dorus, why don't you 
answer me? (A pause.) Thoughtless girl, we have been looking 
everywhere for you. Why did you come alone to this lonely 
place? What did that rude person say to you, my child? 
Dor. Person? 

Lex. Yes, that man — I caught a glimpse of him. I am quite 
certain he was rude to you — else why do I find you in tears? 
Dor. No one has been rude to me, Aunty. 
Leu. But why did you come here alone? 
Dor. I came for a walk. 

Lex. Not with him? Who was lhat man I saw? 
Dor. Might it not have been Herman — looking for me? 
Lex. Herman has be« n looking for you— riding upand down 
the road on horseback — but /don't think it was Herman. If so, 
why did he leave you — and in tears? Have you quarrelled? Was 
it Herman, Dorus? 
Dor. No! 
Lex. Who was it? 

Dor. Oh, Aunty, do not question me now. Let us go home. 
Lex. Dorus, I am pained beyond expression. Is it possible 
that you can have secrets from me? You, whom I have so loved 
and trusted? What am I to think? I command you to tell me 
who that person was. 

Dor. You command me? Let me tell you then that you have 
no right to command me. I will not tell you! I am no longer a 
child. If I choose to have seerats, you, at least, cannot prevent 
it. 

Lex. Then, I shall go to your father. Do you imagine he 
would allow you to meet secretly any person whom he did not 
know? 

Dor. I dare you to go to him with such a story as that? 
Lex. What story? 

Dor. That I am meeting any one clandestinely the first day 
of my return home. You dare not tell him such a preposterous 
thing, for you know he would not believe you. Neither has he 
appointed you to be a spy upon my actions. I will do what 1 
like, unless papa forbids it! (Defiantly.) 

Lex. (Weeping.) Oh! Dorus, you have never spoken like 
this to me before. Ever since you lay in my anns a poor, moth- 
erless baby, I have loved and cared for you. I had thought that 
you loved me and would confide in me the same as if I were 
your mother — but you do not need me any longer. (Lenore 
walks slowly R. weeping. Dorus springs after her and throws her 
arms about her.) 

Dor. I do need you, Aunty. I could not live without you. 



THE LETTEK H. 33 

You know I love you — as a mother. {They embrace.) Forgive 
me for my cruel, heartless words — I did not mean to wound 
you. Trust me a little while — Aunty — I am still worthy of it. 
Sometime, I will tell you all — but not to-night. Say you forgive 
me, Aunty. 

Len. (Kisses her.) I forgive you, darling — and — I will wait 
until you are ready to contide in me. (Places scarf around 
Dorus.) You are shivering — the dew is falling — and you are so 
thinly clad — let us hurry in — (Dorus and Lenore exit R.l.E.) 
(Enter Herman and Dieppo, L.l.E.) 

Her. (Brushing himself.) That was a narrow escape. I came 
near breaking my own neck as well as the horse's. I thought 
he could jump that wall. 
Diep. Are you hurt, sir? 

Her. No, only lame. The horse fell across my right leg and 
I should have had a hard time getting free but for your oppor- 
tune arrival. You are sure the horse is dead. J It would be cruel 
t ) leave him in misery. 

Diep. He is dead — his neck is broken. 

Her. How can I repay your* Will this answer? (Offers him 
money.) 

Diep. No money. Your good words are enough. 
Her. Well, then, as you say. I thank you heartily for your 
assistance. (Offers his hand— Dieppo takes it — they shake hands.) 
You are a foreigner — I judge. Italian? 
Diep. No, Mexican. 

Her. (Passing card.) There is m} 7 card. Herman Higby, son 
of Col. Henry Higby, now member of Congress for the 20th 
New York District. He was in Mexico when he was about my 
age, and has told me many stories about your country. I shall 
tell my father of your kindness, and if at any time you wish assis- 
tance call upon either of us— we are at Mr. Hamilton's for a 
few days — but we live at Lake George.— (Goes K.) 
Diep. You are lame. Shall I go with you to Mr. Hamilton's? 
Her. Oh, no. I can walk this lameness off — thank you — 
good-bye — until we meet again. (Exits r.I.e.) 

Diep. Good-bye — until we meet again. He will know me un- 
less I am much changed. (Strokes his beard.) I must cut off the 
beard. Brindelli! He thought I was Italian. She was right. 
(Laughs.) (Enter Carmelita L.l.E.) 

Car. Dieppo, where have you been? Have you been playing? 
Any luck? I have only told one fortune — no, I didn't tell that 
— but got paid just the same. The girl — what did she want of 
you? 

Diep. She wished me to come and amuse the company this 
evening. 
Car. Are you going? 

Diep. Of course I am. She paid me in advance. I have been 
fortunate enough to pull a young man from under his horse 



34 THE LETTEE H. 

that had fallen dead upon him — he gave me his card — he lives 
at Mr. Hamilton's. 

Car. Hamilton? 

Diep. His name is Higby — son of Col. Henry Higby — 

Car. Higby? Did you say Hamilton and Higby — Here? 

Diep. Yes, there it is. (Shows card to Carmelita.) Do you 
know them? The son said his father was in Mexico when he 
was young. 

Car. Dieppo, I am going with you to Mr. Hamilton's to meet 
Mr. Higby — the father — and the son. 1 can amuse the, company. 

Diep. No, mother, you cannot go. 

Car. I shall go! 

Diep. Mother. T have not told you all the truth. I will not 
try to explain the young lady's reasons, tor I do not know 
them, but she wishes me to come as a »uest to a party to-night 
— and has given me this money. (Slavs purse.) with which to 
dress as well as the other gentlemen. 

Car. 1 will go with you. I can dress as a lady — as your 
mother. 

I iep. But, to please iht h dy. 1 am 1<> 1 e introduced as Signor 
Arturo Brindelli— an Italian — a friend whom she nut in Italy. 

Car. Then, topliQSt myself, I will be introduced as the Sig- 
nora Lucia Brindelli. your mother. 

Diep. But mother, she may 1 e angry— and denounce us both. 
She is fickle, or she would not engage in this tolly. 

Car. Let her denounce. I . too, can denounce. I ieppo, would 
you like to see your father? 

Diep. He descried you — both of us. 1 could never love him. 

Car. Love him! Do you suj pose 1 ;mi trying to find him be- 
cause I love him? No.it is letausc I hate him. Come here, 
Dieppo. (Dieppo ( t o(s to far; sh( j ushes back the hair from his 
forehead — and kisses it.) (Aside.) The Letter II! Hamilton, 
Higby, HATBED! (To Dieppo.) Dieppo, we must go. We 
have no time to lose. Signor Brindelli atUnd your mother. 

Diep. But mother — you must not go with me. 

Car. Have you not sworn to aid me in ev< ry way to find 
your father — who desert* d vs? 

Diep. I have, and I will keep nr\ word. 

Car. (Bushing l.I.e.) Then come, Signor Brindelli— 
(Laughs.) Ccnfe with your mother to Mr. H; mili< n's to-night, 
for your fathir will 1 e there! (Laughs loudly, exits L.l.ic.) 

Diep. What thought is this? Can it he that Mr. Hamilton— 
the letter H — is my father — then, she is my sister — or, might 
have been. Does she know it? Does that explain her tender- 
ness— her love? But she is afraid to own me— she knows her 
father's sin, and pities me. I will not go. But my mother will. 
She is determined to denounce him before them all. Twill 
break my sister's heart. She shall not go— but if she does, i" 
will go with her. 1 must— to protect my sister.' (Exits l.I.e.) 



THE LETTER H. 35 

Scene III. — Mr. Hamilton's House illuminated ; dance music 
being played within.. Lanterns in the trees. 

(Luke, dressed in black, stands near steps of house L.) 

Luke. I gu-u-u-ess they've mo-o-st all arrived. The m-a-a-n- 
sion is pr-e-e-tty f-u-u-11. (Enter k.u.e. Dieppo, [in evening 
di'ess, beard shaved, leaving black moustache. Gwmelita with 
him, richly dressed. They come c.) 

DlEP. We are late. 

Car. For the beginning, yes, but early enough for the end. 

Diep. Mother, remember we are guests, and do not — 

Car. My son, remember that we are guests, and give your 
name to the servant — that he may announce us. 

Luke. (Advancing, pointing to door l.) Th-i-i-s w-a-a-y, sir. 
(Carmelita gives Luke a searching glance from head to foot. 
Luke recoils.) 

Diep. Mother, I cannot. 

Car. (Bitingly.) Not even to find a father? I'm ashamed of 
you! 

Diep. You are right. (To Luke.) Announce Signor Brindelli 
and his mother. 

Car. The Signora Brindelli. (Luke bow?, ascends steps, enters 
house.) Be strong. I am. If a feeling ot weakness comes over 
you, remember the Letter II. (They enter house L.) (Enter 
Saida, L.l.fi.) 

Sai. Luke! where are you, Luke? That man of mine used to 
work fast and tried to ta n k fast — but now he talks so slow, and 
he works slower than he talks. There's one consolation, both 
the children take after me — all except (Enter Luke from house.) 
that h-o-Q-rrid sfa-a-a-mmer. 

Luke. Pr-a-a-ctising Sa-a-a-idi? (Comes down steps.) 

Sai. Yes, and I'd practise more if it would only make you 
perfect. I'm glad my tongue is all right. 

Luke. Ca-a-a-nt say as I'm as h-a-a-ppy as you are about 
th-a-a-t, but I've got g-o-o-o-d eyes, I has. 

Sai. (With interest.) What have you seen, Luke? Tell me. 
I'm your wife, you know. 

Luke. A-a-re you? I'd almost fo-o-o-rgot it. 

Sai. Don't be a fool, Luke. What have you seen? 

Luke. (Drawing her c.) Ke-e-e-p it qu-u-u-iet now* 

Sai. Yes, yes. Goon. 

Luke. Do-o-o-nt hu-u-r-ry me so. 

Sai. Yes, no, no! Go on — go 071! 

Luke. We-e-11 I'm go-o-o-in' on, ain't I? Do-o-o you re-me- 
e-e-mber the jMe-e-e-xican wo-o-oman, down in Lo-o-ouisian, 
when Missus went m-a-a-d? 

Sai. I shall never forget her — and Heaven will never forgive 
her. 



36 THE LETTER H. 

Luke. (Pointing L.) She-e-e-'s in there. 
Sai. Don't be a fool, Luke. 

Luke. Th-a-a-t's the reason I kn-e-e-w her, 'cause I'se no 
f-o-o-o-1. 

Sai. What shall we do? (Enter Mr. Hamilton and Dr Burs- 
lemfrom house L. arm in arm. They come c. Luke and Saida re- 
tiring towards L.l.E.) 

Mr. H. I'm delighted to meet you again, Burslem, and have 
such a long chat over old times. Would that I could have said 
the good old times. 

Dr. B. Mr. Hamilton — (Looks towards Luke and Saida.) 
Mr. H. (Understanding Dr. B."s glance, turns to Luke and 
Saida, waves his hand, — they exit L.l.E.) Something private, 
Burslem? 

Dr. B. Rather, it may be. Who were the last two visitors — 
just came? 

Mr. H. A Signor Brindelli and his molher — two Italian 
friends of Dorus — she says she visited them at Florence — met 
them in a picture gallery — you know they get acquainted easier 
in Europe than we do here. There is one question, Burslem, 
that I've started several times to ask you — have you any idea 
what became of that Mexican girl and her child? I've never 
heard a word about them nor seen a trace since that terrible 
day. 

Dr. B. (Aside.) He does not suspect, (To Mr. H.) I think 
I have met them, once. 
Mr. II. (Agitated.) When? Where? 
Dr. B. At a social gathering — not long ago. 
Mr. II. A social gathering? What name do they go by? 
Dr. B. (Hesitating.) I am afraid the name will sound too 
familiar. 

Mr. H. Then she has not forgotten that name — the fatal H 
— and calls herself II; miltonV 

Dr. B. I can't say whether she has forgotten the name of 
Hamilton, but she was not known by it when we met. 
Mr. H. What then? 

Dr. B. Mr. Hamilton, no man lives with whose life I have 
been more intimate than yours, and 1 knoiv we are friends. 

Mr. H. (Clasping Dr. B.'s hands.) We are, true friends. 
Speak out. 

Dr. B. You are the last man to whom I would breathe my 
suspicions did not my whole being — all my senses sharpened by 
years of active use — 

Mr. II. Yes, yes, speak out. I trust you. 
Dk. B. Mr. Hamilton, I honestly think that the Mexican wo- 
man and her son are in your house at this very moment. (Mr. 
H. stares at Dr. B. and then totters to the rustic seat, assisted by 
Dr. B.) 
Mr. II. What do they want? She killed my wife — does she 



THE LETTER H. 37 

come to kill my child — oh, this is horrible! Come,(?i\ses, rushes 
l.) I will denounce her — they shall leave the house. (Dr. B. 
grasps him, draws him C.) 

Dr. B. A very unwise proceeding to make a scene, especially 
as I may be mistaken. You are excited; come, let us take a 
walk in the garden and talk this matter over. Come, fresh air 
is an invaluable prescription when the brain is heated. (Takes 
Mr. H.'s arm and they exit l.u.e.) (Enter from house 1,. Dorus 
followed by Herman. Dorus crosses stage, sits on rustic seat R. 
Herman stands c.) 

Her. Dorus, I asked the favor of a private interview with 
you. 

Dor. Well, we are alone, are we not? All that is necessary 
now to make the private interview is for you to speak. 

Her. "YVhj' are you so cold to me, Dorus? All your pleasant 
words, all your smiles have been given to that foreigner. 
Dor. Is Signor Brindelli to blame for being born in Italy? 
Her. He is to blame for not staying where he was born. 
Dor. (With a contemptuous laugh.) A very foolish speech — 
the offspring of envy — a noble feeling — 
Her. No, Dorus, it sprang from a truly noble feeling — love. 
Dor. Then,— ah, yes— you are jealous. 
Her. I am not ashamed to own it — to the woman I love. 
Dor. When the woman says she loves you — your jealousy 
may be excusable — but at present it is bordering on presump- 
tion. (JRising.) Is the private interview at an end? 
Her. It is. Shall I conduct you to the house? 
Dor. I have no objection to you (Herman steps forward) re- 
turning alone. 

Her. (Turning away, indignantly; turns to Dorus again.) 
Dorus, Dorus, you will one day regret this conduct. 

Dor. When the day for penitence arrives, Mr. Higby, I will 
beg a private interview. (Herman turns, gives Dorus a look of 
indignation, and exits hastily r.u.e.) He must love me, in his 
way, or he would not be so persistent , and foolish. (Enter Dieppo 
from house L. Dorus rushes to meet him.) 

Diep. Lady, I trust that neither by appearance nor speech 
have we disgraced your hospitality. 

Dor. (Surveying him.) You look like a gentleman — and you 
are one. I hope you have enjoyed yourself — if you have, I am 
fully repaid for my — 

Diep. Your — what did you say, lady? 

Dor. My — I cannot explain myself , here. Give me your arm, 
and we will walk in the garden. 

Diep. Shall I not deprive friends of your company who have 
claims upon you — while I have none. 

Dor. As my guest, you have a strong claim on my hospitality, 
and, besides — an explanation is due you of my — conduct. 
Diep. (Herman enters r.u.e.) For that purpose I will go, 



38 THE LETTER II . 

and I hope it will enable me to throw off the mask and assume 
my own name and humble station. I am not at home in this 
dress. (Herman exits R.U.E.) 

Dor. You wear it as though 3011 were born to it. (They turn. 
Dorus takes his arm and they start to go out l.u.e. Herman en- 
ters excitedly r.tj.e.) 

Her. Sir! Sir!! (Dieppo and Dorus turn and fare him.) I over- 
heard your words, sir, for which I see no reason to offer an 
apology. Now is the time to throw off your mask and tell who 
and what you are, — and why you are here. 
Diep. I am — 

Dor. Stop, — (To Herman.) He is my ejuest — here at my invi- 
tation. Have you any right to interfere? 

Her. Yes, after what I have heard. (Enter Col. H. from 
house) As a friend of your father, as your suitor, I have a 
right to ask who this man is— for he confesses he bears a false 
name and is unused to the dress of a gentleman. (Col. Higby 
comes down steps. Mr. Hamilton and Br. Burslem ente% from 
L.u.K. and Lenore, with Utter in hand, from house L.) 

Mb. II. What is the matter? Henry, what has happened? 
COL. II. My son , or perhaps your daughter can best explain 
the situation. 

Dor. By all means, let Mr. Herman Higby explain. 
Mi;. II. What have you to saw Herman? 
Her. From my own suspicions, and from words I overheard 
this man utter 1 am convinced he is not what he claims to be — 
an Italian gentleman named Brindelli. 

Mr. H. That point can be easily settled. Dorus, who are 
your guests? 

DlEP. (To Dorus, aside.) I will tell them who I am. 
Dor. (Aside, to Dieppo,) No! (To the company.) Mr. Higby's 
ears deceived him. He is jealous — and so he brought about this 
scene. My guests are Signor Arturo Brindelli and his mother. 
Len. Oh! Dorus! how can you? this is terrible! 
Mr. II. Lenore, what do you mean? Speak! Do you know 
Signor Brindelli? 

Len. Horace, I cannot speak. Read that letter. Forgive me, 
Dorus! 

Mr. II. (Reads.) "Florence — my dearest Aunty" — why, this 
is Dorus' writing — 

Dor. Yes, father, my private correspondence — to be read for 
the amusement of our guests. 

Mr. H. No, I cannot, will not read it. (Throws it down.) 
Col. II. (Picking it up.) Then I will — with Miss Clifton's 
consent whose rightful property it is, as the law has decided. 
(Looks to Lenore, who nods consent.) 

Mr. II. Give me the letter, Henry. Not one word of it shall 
be read by any one without my daughter's full and free con- 
sent. 



THE LETTER H. 39 

Dor. I am at a loss to understand what connection this letter 
can have with Signor Brindelli, for Aunt Lenore never met 
him. I am as curious as you can be Col. Higby, and you have 
my full and free consent to read it. (Proudly.) 

Col. H. (Reads.) "I am stopping here with Mrs. Harlow, 
and we are having a delightful time visiting the galleries. Mrs. 
II. introduced me to a young artist, Signor Arturo Brindelli, 
and yesterday we called on his father, who is a widower — " 

Her. Then the mother is dead! (Dieppo steps L. leaving Dor- 
us R. Dorus tarns pale, but looks rigidly at the company.) 

Len. When they were announced this evening, I remem- 
bered this letter, and went and found it. Dorus, what does all 
this mean? 

Heij. (To Dieppo.) Sir, if you are not Signor Brindelli who 
are you? 

Diep. I will answer you. (Passes card.) That card may ex- 
plain. 1 

Her. (Looks at cord, starts back.) How came you b}' this, 
my card? 

Diep. You gave it to me this evening — your horse stumbled 
you remember — and broke his neck, and fell upon you. I — 

Her. (To lus father.) This is the man I told you about. He 
did me a service for which I offered to pay him — but he refused, 
to my astonishment. (To Dieppo.) Two hours ago you were a 
ragged tramp. By what means have you been so suddenly 
changed into the semblance of an Italian gentleman? 

Dor. Money did it! It has done much for all of us. 

Col. II. But where did he get the money? Are you sure he 
did not rob you, Herm.in? 

Dor. Col. Higby, you are a cow trd to insult the man who, 
perhaps, saved your son's life. 1 ismiss your cruel suspicions. 
/ gave him the money! (The company cry, "Yet*?" Dorus tot 
ters, and falls on rustic seat. Herman and Lenore approach her, 
but she waves them away. Mr. Hamilton and Dr. B. then ap- 
proach her. Col. Higby goes l.I.e. Carmelita enters from lwuse 

L.) 

Diep. Mother, we will go, now. 

Col. H. (Galls l.) Luke! Luke!! (Gomes c.) No, you shall 
not go until this business is explained. (Enter Luke and Saida 
l.I.e.) As a guest of my old friend, Gen. Hamilton, and a life 
long friend of his family I have a right to denounce this man as 
an impostor and an intruder. If he and the woman whom he 
calls his mother will not tell who they are, and why they are 
here, they shall be arrested, and Henry Higby will make them 
face the law. (Carmelita rushes forward. Die-ppo grasps her.) 

Diep. Come, mother, come — let us go. 

Dr. B. (Aside.) I was right. It is the Mexican. 

Car. (Facing Col. Higby.) So, Col. Henry Higby will make 
this poor boy and his mother face the law, but Carmelita will 



40 THE LETTER H , 

i.. you fa e roar own conscience! (Dorus revives and looks 

r eUl ook upon the woman you ieceived and be- 

upoi mi hild— Dieppo— look at him— after long years 

then 5 Pointing io Col H.) Dieppo, Col, Henry Higby 

i i 1 1 1 ■ 

CURTAIN". 
END OF 4.CT J 



ACT 11 



-(•.!•. •-;,•' > i ij, ii Lake George. 

Co ttaje front ■ 2&3 ' trg( pi ictii bli rock l.2. Rustic seat 
fron r'it < •' ' • I i >' ■ " ' • 

■ i >( gby i E they come down 

f- >■ 

d th orrect one, Henry? 
■ ,. H Horace, 3 know \ in r ght 

I p yoi iai ■■.'>< i i io! ret thoroughly con- 

r i ■ something m teri i th iffair 

OL. H. " I No i il 'I race, only a comnion- 

p!ac i — th iccu ■ day Horace, you must be*- 

□tie. 
! i, Hem 

I s a poor t i ow. Now 

- ' > ,' < '■ m I i s vi' you hear it told con- 
■ little quarrel vkh «> rus about a street mu- 
sician ! music— Dorus, with h ual feminine per- 
i ■ - : iike it — she meets the young fellow, thinks it 
>•< » : joke to spite 5( she invites him to the 
e dng party. 
ila H. But Car — the woman? That's not so easy — 

a ier yet,— she saw me with my dead friend in 
Mexic . arse, having declared the- pi sture— my picture- 

was that of her betrayer — when she saw me — what more natural 
than that she should repeat the accusation? 
Mb, H. But the son — 

Col. H. He evidently didn't take much stock in his mother's 
declaration— for you remember that he tore his mother — if she 
is mother — from the spot, and we have not seen them nor 
them since — a month ago 
MR. H. They may follow as 



THE LETTER H. 41 

Col. H. If they attempt to blackmail me — for that is all it is 
anyway, I shall turn them over to the authorities. By making 
an open light I shall get public opinion on my side and save 
many an honest person from similar persecutions. By the way, 
Horace, has Herman had a confidential talk with you yet? 

Mk. H. Confidential talk? Why, what about? No. 

Col. H. Why, you haven't forgotten our old compact have 
you — about Dorus and my boy — made before your daughter was- 
horn? 

Mr. II. If the children are agreed I shall be happy to ratify 
the compact, but no undue parental influence. In such a matter 
a young heart is likely to be nearer right than an old head. 

Col. H. Yes, but suppose I)orus were to fancy some one be- 
neathher — i1 may be, unworthy? Such thingarenot uncommon. 

Mr. II. Don't worry. Dorus is a girl of strong good sense, 
and has the pride of a Vere de Vere. 

Col. II. And very fond of having her own way. 

Mr. II. I own that — she's likelier father — but you know very 
well that her own way is generally the right way. 

Col. H. That is an indulgent lather's view of the case, cer- 
tainly. If she refuses Herman, her wa} r , for once, will be the 
wrong way. 

Mr. H. That's an indulgent father's view of the case, cer- 
tainly. (Laughs.) 

Col. H. (Looking off it. I.e.) Here come the suspected 
parties. (Hushes v. grasps Mr. H.\t arm.) Horace, let us fly! 

MR. H. Fly? Why? 

Col. 11. Because if we are discovered here in earnest con- 
versation our suspicious children will imagine that we are de- 
vising schemes to exert an undue parental influence — and they 
may run away and get married — just to have their own way — 
eh, Horace? (Col. H. takes Mr. HSs arm and they exit into 
cottage K.3.E. both laughing.) (Enter Herman and Dorus B.l.E. 
They walk across stage. Doras throws herself upon rustic seat L.) 

Her. We have had a long walk. You must be fatigued. 

Dor. I'm a little tired— not at all fatigued. 

Her. Will you sit here, or will you go down- by the lake anrl 
recline in the hammock? 

Dor. I think it would require a grand convulsion of nature 
to thiow me into a reclining mood— a terrible earthquake for 
instance. 

Her. There is where you make a mistake, Dorus. You are 
too self-reliant. It isunfeminine. You should cultivate a desire, 
a feeling — you should acknowledge the want of somebody, 1 
mean something stronger than yourself to lean upon. 

Dor. This rustic seat seems to be well made and I have per- 
fect confidence in its ability to sustain me. 

Her. Do not jest, Dorus. Nature never does. From the tree 
and the vine, man and woman can learn the lesson of life. Did 
you ever observe the sturdy oak — 



42 THE LETTE K II . 

Dor. (Jumping tip.) Yes. I have heard of it a great many 
times. 

Her. (Astonished.) What? 

Dor. I mean the story ahout the sturdy oak and Ihe clinging 
vine. Please don't tell it again— but if you must, phase make 
the tree a sugar maple — I should much prefer clinging to a 
sugar maple than an oak. 

Her. My romance is all thrown away upon you. I soar up 
into the regions of poetry, and— 

Dor. I comedown to maple sugar. Well, the fact is, Her- 
man, (Sits on rustic seat again.) I am so decidedly practical 
that I prefer a griddle cake to a sonnet and think maple syrup 
sweeter far than Anacreon or Tennyson. It's a mere matter of 
taste, you know, Herman. 

Her. Well, Dorus, if you are so practical, let us talk about a 
practical matter which to me is sweeter than poetry and which 
I hope will have more charms for you than maple sugar. 
Dor. It must be a sweet subject. 

Her. It is— yourself — and the plans our loving fathers are 
laying for you and me. Can't you imagine? 

Dor. No! what plans? Are we all going to Niagara, and the 
Yosemite? 

Her. Anywhere you wish. Torus. Bridal tours are usually 
of an erratic nature. 

Dor. Why, who is going to 1 e married? Not my father, 
surely — it must be yours. (Sericrusly.) lleiman. I hope your 
father has made a good choice — that he has found a woman who 
will be a mother to you — bring you up well -and make a good 
man of you. (Laughs.) 

Her. Dorus, you are incorrigible. For eighteen years our 
fathers have had a pleasant dream, in common. That dream 
was and is to see us — you and I, Dorus— man and wife. 

Dor. If they have had such a nice lime for eighteen years 
dreaming about it — don't let us wake tin in up, lleiman. Let , 
them dream on, forever. 

Her. Willingly, Dorus, — but to ensure that happy future — 
we must marry. I can truly say, Dorus. that if 1 can leave a 
ring upon this dear hand as a token of our engagement — this 
would be the moment of greatest happiness that Hie can give 
me, until a year hence, when, with another iing,I make you 
mine. 

Dor. (Taking the ring.) Where, did you buy this? 
Her. In Boston. My chum at Harvard is a good judge of 
diamonds and he went with me. 
Dor. It is too large. 

Her. That is easily fixed — cut a piece from the back, and — 
Dor. Would they take it back if 1 didn't like it? 
Her. Certainly. The salesman said they had to take back a 
great many engagement rings — the ladies are very particular. 



THE LETTER H . 43 

Dor. Will they give you back your money? 

Her. Xo, another ring — why, what do you mean, Dorus? 
Are you trifling witli me? Can you be so cruel and heartless? 

Dob. (After a pause.) I thinkyou are the cruel and heartless 
one. T came here at your father's urgent invitation to have a 
good time during your vacation. We might have gone on en- 
joying ourselves and having lots of fun, but now you have 
gone and spoiled it all. I wish I had never come here. I wish 
you were hack at college. (Herman tries to take her hand. She 
draws buck.) There will be no peace for us now. I shall get 
nervous, have the headache, be cross and make everybody and 
myself miserable. I never did in my life settle down to liking a 
young man but he always got conceited and spoiled everything 
as you have done — and nothing in the world gained by it but to 
get himself thoroughly disliked — I can't understand it. 

Her. Had I known Miss Hamilton — 

Dor. Stop! Now, slop, you disagreeable creature — Miss 
Hamilton — aren't you ashamed of yourself, Mr. Highy? Her- 
man, don't let us have any such nonsense. 

Her. Fonts, I won't. One question only. May I hope? 

Dot;. She must be merciless indeed who would deprive a 
lover of so inexpensive a solace. 

HEKi When may T dare to ask again if — 

Dor. Never. Await my answer. If I send for you, come. If 
not — 

Her. Thank you. T understand. (Goes towards door to cot- 
tage, then com '.s L. to Dorus.) Are you going in, Dorus? 

Doit. Not now. Herman. This is my third offer and I am 
somewhat hardened, but really, if you have no objection, I will 
sit here a lit i le while ; n 1 think — of yoii. 

Her. (Bowing-.) I could have no pleasanter thought, than, 
that you are thinking — of mc. (Exits into cottage R.3.E.) (Dorus 
throws herself upon seat andsobs. Enter Luke l.u.e. comes down 
c. letter in hand.) 

Luke. M-i-i-i-ss-i-i-ss D-o-o-o-rus. (Repeals severed times.) 

Dor. (Looking up.) Who's that? Oh! Luke. What is it? Did 
father send for me? 

Luke. (Coining nearer, air of secrecy.) N-o-o-o— 1-e-tt-t-t-ter 
for y-o-o-u. 

Dor. (Jumping up.) Letter? Who from? (Tears it open.) 

Luke. Mu-u-u-sic f-e-e-llow. Gu-e-e-ss somebody g-a-a-ve it 
to him to b-r-r-ing. 

Dor. (Reads.) " 1 am going away — to leave you forever." 
No, he shall not go, until I see him once more— (Sternly.) It 
must — it shall be the last time — (Tenderly.) But I must see him 
once more. (To Luke.) Where is Dieppo? 

Luke. W-w-w-w-hat is d-d-d-d-epot? 

Dor. The man — I mean the man who gave you this letter. 
Where is he? 



44 THE LETTER H. 

Luke. I th-h-h-h-ink he's g-g-g-g-one. 

Doe. Go, go at once Luke, and find him. Bring him to me, 
Luke, bring him here. (Dorus goes L. reading letter. Luke exits 
l.u.e.) (Dorus reads.) "Lady, I am going away— and shall take 
my mother with me. If, as she says, Mr. Higby is my father, 
then a cast of shame is thrown upon Mr. Herman Higby— your 
lover. He has my name and fortune, why should he not have 
all in peace? He is not to blame. I shall never claim a father 
who has forgotten me. I am going away, forever, and my 
mother shall never trouble you or yours any more. Pity and 
forget, Dieppe" (Enter Dieppo l.u.e. canes c. half down 
stage.) Dieppo, pity you. I do with all my heart. Forget you I 
never can. How noble! He loves me, and gives up all to prove 
his love. 

Diep. I have come, lady. 

(Dorus turns, with a glad cry, rushes C. takes Diejpo's arm 
and draws him l. I.e. front of rock.) 

Dor. Dieppo, I have gone too far to turn back. You shall no 
longer be kept in doubt with regard to my strange acts and 
words; you shall have no reason to think worse of me than I 
deserve. What must you have thought? 

Diep. Lady, I have seen and heard, I have not cared to think. 
Dor. It must have seemed strange to you as it has to me. 
Dieppo, from my earliest remembrance I have had one lace 
and form constantly before me, — -sometimes near — sometimes 
so far away — sometimes not present to the eye, Lut never ab- 
sent from the heart. 
Diep. Yes, lady. 

Doe. When a child how often have I leaned my head against 
the window pane an 1 waited for his approach until I would fall 
asleep with my head resting upon the s'll — my reddened, tear- 
stained eyes a sign of sorrow that I could not explain and no 
one could imagine. In later years I have longed to meet him 
with an intensity that has been almost unendurable. To meet 
him face to face, to talk with him, to hear him say he loved me. 
Diep. He would be ungrateful, lady, did he not say so. 
Dor. I have always felt that our destinies were inseparable, 
and that one day we should meet and recognize each other in- 
stinctively. Sleeping or waking the same dark eyes are always 
looking into mine. How often, in imagination, have I lifted the 
curls from his white forehead and twined the jetty silken rings 
about my fingers— and tried to speak his name but could not. 
It would seem to be upon my lips ready for utterance, and then 
it would be gone before my memory could grasp it, — and so 
this creature of my brain, this phantom something has lured me 
on — has taken possession of my heart and soul. It enthrals my 
whole being. It is part of myself. I love it better than I do my 
own life. (Grasping Dieppo's arm.) Dieppo, do you think if I 
were ever to meet this mysterious being — and find him a mortal 



T TT E LETTER H . 45 

. •■ • :i ;' r :-. i :-.i n t »* 

man like yourself — that it would be wrong to tell him of my 
love, of my life-long devotion to him? |; '" ' "' '■ .JioU 

Diep. No; lady. •"' ■ ■• -i -v-d I n » * "' '>' '•" l « 

Dor. Listen. Dieppo. Only a month aigo, J was sitting in inV' 
father's garden. My mysterious* ''-vision had befell with 'trie' to' 
Europe and had that day, returned with me.' I sat thinking off 
him when I became' conscious that 'a person was standing' 1 near'' 
me. L looked up. Can you iniagiue whom I saw? ' ' ' ' *' 

Diep.' No; ladyi : ■ i ', " ' " '■ •': ' " " ' " " ,i! ' ' 

Dor. I saw the realization of all my dreams standing' before '. 
me, in human form. 1 'looking' into* my"eyfes as : he' had fooketb 
thousands of times before. ' .'• ".■.■■ • • \ ] '■ 

Diep. Did he recognize you, lady? ■ ' ■ v. ■'.-., i^! 

Dor. No, to my great disappointment. No!' He hiust'' have '"' 
seen my heart speaking through thy eyes,' but the're was no* 
answering look in his. He must have seen the struggle thai 
was raging in my breast but there was no response from 1 him. 
He wascalni, and cold, but respectful; I called pride' to my aid, 
— I tried to forget him — I 'tried, oh! how hard to"ti ar his dear 
image from my heart, but it is no use to struggle any lbuger— 
I cannot, I cannot-! "■ '< ■'•' ' ■' '-■ "■ H. i« ') 

Diep. lie would, .perhaps, love yon, 'if he 'knew.'" 1|! ' •'' 

Dor. Oh! Dieppo if I hid found him what the World calls a 
gentleman, high born and poor. or low born and 1 riclV. I could 
have loved no more but I could have loved him hopefully. I" 
still love him, blindly, madly, hopelessly, the' world would sa ( \', 
for he is a poor, ignorant street niusiciaii— but he is my fate". 
Ah! Dieppo can I, need I say more? Speak, Dieppo, speak and 
comfort me. (Weepsi) ■ .; • (. .',\.\.\ 

Diep. Unhappy lady, what can 1 say that can comfort Vbu? f ' ' 

Dor.' Say that you pity me-Msay! th tt you' Will try tolfove me. 

Diep. I dare not say that, lady. I am a poor, ignorant 'street 
musician, but I have never been guilty of a base action. 

Dor. Base? Is it base to love 1 me? >'< ""'■' . ■ ' : 

Diep. For one like me to presume so 'far 'would be both base 
and dishonorable. I should' deserve all't'he scorn and contempt 
which your father and friends would heap upon me. 

Dor. I see, you do hot love me. ' '' '■ ' ' : 

-Diep. Lady, I have nothing to offer you but' poverty, and 

what your friends would call disgrace, m exchange for* 'youth , 

beauty, wealth. The world would call you' foolish' and me a 

villain. 

Dor. I have a fortune in my own right and yet it will not se- 
cure me that little bit of happiness that like a 'butterfly lias 
eluded my grasp for so many years. It will not give' hie the one 
I love and yet it would make 'a thousand say they'loved me.'' if 
you could but love me, Dieppo, I should' care nothing for the 
world. ' " ' 

Diep. But your father, lady? ' '" ' 



46 THE LETTER H. 

Dor. My mother was an heiress. She married for love alone 
— a brave man but a poor one. I have the same right. Dieppo. 
when a thing is right, all arguments against it must be wrong. 
For your own sake, Dieppo, stay with me. 

Diep. No, for 3'our own sake, lady, I must leave you. 1 
would rather die than bring such misery upon you. Farewell. 

Dor. (Grasping Dieppo.) You shall not, — you must not leave 
me. I cannot go on my lonely way — alone. Oh! Dieppo, have 
you no pity? Can you leave me never to meet again when J 
have waited so long for you? I cannot endure it, you must love 
me or I shall die! (Dieppo turns to break away from Dorus, but 
she screams and dings to him. Dieppo pushes her from him — and 
she falls c. Dieppo gives a frightened look and starts to go up c. 
when Mr. Hamilton, Col. Higby, Herman, and Ltnovt enter from 
cottage R.3.E.) 

Mr. H. My daughter — who has done this? 

Len. Dorus, my darling. (Mr. It. and Lenore. lift Dorus frwn 
the ground, and try to revive her. Col. H . yi-asps Dieppo and 
drags him k; Dieppo does not resist.) 

Col. H. (To Dieppo.) You villain to attack a lady in open 
day in sight of her own home. Are you drunk 01; cimzv '( What 
woman's safe with such a brute as you at liberty? (Shah * 
Dieppo.) What have you got to say for yourself: Did you nu an 
to rob her? 

DlEr. I did not attack her, sir, nor molesl her in any way. 

Col. H. You lie! (Strikes Diej po.) (Goes to Dorns, L.) 

DlEP. I have borne much for her sake. I wili bear that. 

Her. You will have to bear more when the ladies have gone. 
The. law fails to reach such cowards as you. (Dorus revires.) 

Diep. Mr. Herman Higby,* do not touch me If you value your 
life. There are reasons why I would not submit to a blow from 
you. 

Col. H. Horace, you and Lenore take Dorus into ihe house. 
Merman and I will see that this fellow gets his deserts. 

Dor. (Bushing c.) You will not harm him. for he is not to 
blame. It was I, Dorus Hamilton, who urged him io m< et in- 
here. I threw my arms about his neck and begged him to love 
me as I loved him. He repulsed me and said h would be dis- 
honorable for him to love me. I clung to him— he pushed me 
from him, and I fell; you know the rest. 

Len. Misguided girl, your conduct was unrnaid* nh and 
wicked. 

Dor. I know it. He told me so. 

Her. And you could refuse my love for such as he? 

Dor. I did not make my heart, Herman. God made it. 

Mr. H. My poor child, this is more terrible than your death 
would have been. How did this strange, this horrible hue ever 
come to you? 

Col. H. Horace, the girl is mad; why do you stand here and 



T II E L E T T E R H . 47 

listen to her ravings? Take herinto the house and call a doctor. 
Send for Burslem. lie is at the hotel. 

Ll;n. Come, Dorus, you need quiet and rest. 

Dan. I will not leave him here with those men — they will 
kill him. 

Lex. Come with me— you must, child. It is our duty to take 
you by force ii* you resist. 

Diik. I will not go. They shall not kill my Dieppo. 

Mb. II. Henry, what can we do? 

Col. H. {Crossing to Dorus — taking her arm.) Horace, take 
her arm. She must go into the house. (Doras resists, struggles, 
screams. ) 

DiF.r. Gentlemen, do not injure the lady. She will go in if 
you will h t me speak to her. 

Col. H. What do you mean, you vagabond? 

DlEP. True, I am a vagabond, and you are a gentleman; yovt 
are all gentlemen (Looking at Mr. H. and Herman.) but my 
voice will have more power with that poor young lady there 
than your strong arms. If you do not believe me, it will do no 
harm to let me try. 

Col. II. There is some witchcraft here. Speak to her, then, 
but remember every word you say will be used against you in a 
court of law. 

Diep. (Crossing to Dorus.) Lady! Dorus! 

Dor. My Dieppo. You are safe, then. (Embraces hirn.) 

Diep. Dorus, you must go in the house with your friends. 

Dor. Why do you bid me to leave you? 

Diep. Because I love you, Dorus. (Col. H. and Herman rush 
forward.) 

Dor. Thank God! (Throws herself into Dieppo' s arms.) 

Mr. H. My poor child! 

Lex. There is a curse upon her. 

Diep. Now, Dorus, go in with your father. I will see you 
again. 

Dor. You said you loved me and I will not leave you. They 
will lock me up, Dieppo, — they will kill you and I shall never 
see you again. (To the others.) Do you think when it has taken 
me a life time to win him that I will lose him as soon as he is 
won? Go, all of you and leave me alone with him, with Dieppo, 
my husband! (Proudly.) 

Her. This is too much. Mr. Hamilton, I love your daughter 
better than life — and while I live she shall never marry such as 
he. (Advances toward Dieppo.) 

Diep. Stand back, Herman Higby. Ask your father why I do 
not wish to quarrel with you. 

Dor. Go, leave us alone, I say. I am safe. Dieppo would not 
harm me. He loves me. He said so. I can defend myself. See, 
here is my mother's dagger. (Draws it from bosom.) I can kill 
Dieppo with it, or, if you try to drag me from him — I can and 



48 THE LETTER H. 

will kill myself! (Tableau. Mr. H. Lenore, Col. H.and Ha man 
retreat up stage, and exit into cottage R.3.E.) 

Dor. Dieppo, you can never know how happy I was to hear 
you say, so bravely, so proudly, before them all— that you loved 
me. Do you fear that you will ever be sorry that you said it? 

Diep. Only for your sake, lady. You can never be happy 
with me. 

Dob. Stop, Dieppo, you shall not think and talk so meanly 
of yourself. I could be happy with no one else. Kiss me, 
Dieppo. (Dieppo draws back.) You will not? I : m sorry. 
(Dieppo kisses her.) Now, you must not call me '-lady "any 
more. Call me Dorus, will you? 

1 iep. Yes, lady— (Dorus shakes her head.) Dorus, yes, 
Dorus. 

Doit. That's better. Now. you must never forget what my 
name is. (Lookinj at Dieppo.) But while my heart is full of 
happiness, you are sad. I see no joy in your face and there is 
none in your heart, I fear. 

Diep. If I were only worthy of you — this must be a dream 
of happiness from which we shall 1 oili soon wake. 

Dor. It was a dream — 1 ieppo — a dream of a liie— but now it 
is a reality — and a life of happiness is be- ore us. 
Diep. I am poor an 1 ignorant and coarsi 
Don. I deny it. Even if you are, J i m rich. Money will buy 
everything but a loving heart, and that, poverty or ignorance 
could not harm. You give me that — which money could not buy 
and I will give you all that wealth <•; n purchase. 1 have only 
one fear. 

Diep. What is that, Dorus? That even then, I— 
Dor. No — hut I may be jealous of my hero — 
Diep. Dorus, we have ho h forgotten our duly you to your 
father, I to my mother. Remember what she is — a woman with 
two passions — her love for me — her hatred of him who betrayed 
her. Remember what I am — a homeless, nameless outcast. 
Don. You are my Dieppo. 

Liep. Dorus, a heart of steel could not resist such trusting 
love as yours — but I have sworn before Ileawn and my mot In r 
that I would never falter in the search, never forsake her until 
my father, if living, made her his lawful wife and me his law- 
ful son. 

Dor. Dieppo, you must keep your promise to your mothe: — 
and I will aid you — my money is yours. We will tin. I him. I 
never saw my mother. She died when I was a little chili — but 
I have her picture and many things that I love because she 
loved them. See this knife, 1 ieppo. (Takes knife /rem bosim.) 
This was mother's. Aunty Lenore says it is a family heirloom. 
Seethe angel's head carved upon the handle— Dieppo, this is 
my talisman against evil. 

Diep. (Looking at the knife.) It is very beautiful. Is h shaip? 



THE LETTER H. 49 

Don. As a dagger. 1 will show you. Oh, yes, Dieppo, I tell 
you what I will do — cut off one of your curls — then I shall have 
two talismans — and then surely I shall never do anything wrong 
us long as I live. May I, Dieppo? 

Diep. Yes, Dorus. (Dorus, knife in hand, brushes the hair 
from Dieppe's forehead. She sees the letter H upon his forehead. 
Her look changes from one of passionate love to that of bitter 
hatred. Her eyes glare wildly — her fingers clutch the knife. She 
plunges the knife several times into Dieppo'' s breast — he falls to 
the ground. Dorus gives him an agonized look, drops the knife, 
gives a piercing scream , staggers and falls. Enter hastily from 
house R.3.K. Col. H., Lenore, Mr. Hamilton, Herman, and from 
up stage l.tj.e. Luke and Saida. Col. H. rushes v. and lifts Dorus 
from the ground.) 

Col. H. Blind folly to leave them thus together. He has 
killed her. (Lenore, Herman and Mr. H. support Dorus; Col. 
H. sees knife, picks it up- — and stands over Dieppo.) His infernal 
work is done at last. {Bending over him.) He is dead. (Enter 
C irmettt i L .I.E. She kneels beside Dieppo and lifts his head.) 

Car. My poor, poor boy. Thayhave killed you. (To Col. H.) 
II is Mood is on your ban Is, Horace Hamilton, or Henry Higby 
as you call yourself now. He stood in your way — the girl loved 
him — and you murdered your own son. Do not deny it. Look 
upon tbis brand — the letter "-H" — I have never forgotten— 
you never shall! 

Don. The letter H? Yes. I saw it— on his white forehead be- 
neath his curly hair — poor Dieppo — they shall not take you 
from me — l hey will kill you. (Falls back.) 

Car. I am avenged. (To Col. H.) The poor girl will be true 
to Dieppo — she will love me for I am his mother — but she will 
never call him husband, (Points to Herman.) she will never 
call you father! 

(Carmetita bends over body of Dieppo. Ceil. II . averts his face 
from Herman who looks at him inquiringly. Luke and Saidxt 
stand astonished. Dorus is supported by Lenore and her father.) 

— TABLEAU.— 

CURTAIN. 



SECOND TABLKAU. 



[Luke and Saida on steps of house leading in Mr. Hamilton. 
Lenore and Herm in stand R.C. looking at Dorus, who with her 
arms thrown around CarmeUta's neck looks defiantly back at 
Col. H. Dr. Burslem enters and stands near Col. H. hat in hand.] 

SECOND CURTAIN. 

END OF A CT II. 



50 THELETTERH 

ACT III. 



Scene.— Interior of Col Higby's Cottage at Lake George. 
A richly furnished apartment. Six weeks later. 

(Mr. H. discovered in easy chair.) 

Mr, H. How much has been written of the horrors of war — 
how little of the horrors of the sick chamber. For three weeks 
Dieppo's life hung by a thread, and for five weeks my daugh- 
ter's hold upon life was as frail as his. (Rises.) Thank Heaven, 
she has escaped the life long misery of being an unintentional 
murderer — for both their lives are mercifully spared. But I 
would rather have fought a battle in the field than this long 
contest with my own heart in the solitude of what we all 
thought would be the chaml er of death. (Enter Lenore C.) Ah, 
Lenore, what news? 

Len. The best. Dr. Burslem has just come from I ieppo's 
room and says he is doing splendidly. Dieppo made the doctor 
promise that he could leave here to-day. 

Mr. II. Leave here to-day? He must not go until that mys- 
tery which has baffled us for six weeks is in some way ex- 
plained. 

Len. Six weeks, Horace? Since that day, eighteen years ago 
when my sister died in my arms and I took her motherless child 
to my heart, a mystery, a curse, call it what you will has hung 
over her and us. 

Mr. II. You are right, Lenore, and I lack words to express 
my gratitude for the devotion you have shown to Dorus. Can I 
ever repay you? No mother could have been kinder — you could 
not have been if Dorus had been your own. 

Len. She was my own. I never told you how I came North, 
but I will now. A friend said he would get me a government 
pass — but I must not feel offended at the way it was worded. 
Mr. II. Did he call you a nurse? 

Len. (Laughing.) No, the pass read— "The wife and infant 
child of Gen. Horace Hamilton, U.S.A.'' — so you see the gov- 
ernment acknowledged my claim to Dorus. 

Mr. II. (Laughs.) More than that, Lenore, it gave you a 
claim to me also. (Seriously.) Lenore, I have something to tell 
you. Ever since Dorus and yourself returned from Europe my 
previously placid life has been one of unrest. 
Len. I am sorry we have troubled you so much. 
Mr. II. Not that — but you will remember you told me that 
day that you were going back to Louisiana to live— that has 
caused my unrest— lor, Lenore, believe me it is not the thought 



THE LETTER H. 51 

of the moment; I cannot — we cannot, lose you — we cannot, I 
cannot, live without you. Still be a mother to Dorus, be my 
wife, L en ore. 

Len. Horace, you have had a sad life — a bitter sorrow came 
upon an innocent man — I know you were innocent — you bore 
up bravely, truly, nobly — 

Mr. H. And you will be mine, Lenore? 

Len. There is no place in the world where my heart will 
ever be, except with Dorus — and — and you, Horace. (Mr. H. 
takes Lenore* s-hond and draws her towards him. At the instant 
enter Dr. Burskm C. Lenore rushes L. Mr. H. R.c.) 

Dr. B. Of course you want to know how my patients are 
getting along — finely — finely. Dieppe is anxious to leave here 
and I have said he can go. Your .daughter is weak bodily, but 
mentally I could ask nothing more favorable. The cloud of 
delirium has passed. She recalls but little of the past and noth- 
ing of ihat dreadful clay. But she has not forgotten him,. She 
a ked just now if Dieppo had gone away — and said she wished 
to bid him good-bye. 

Mr. H. She must not see him again. 

Dr. B. She certainly must see him again if we wish to learn 
the whole truth about her hallucination — and I'm going to have 
a good square talk with Dieppe's mother if I can find her. 
This is the strangest case I ever had, but I'm making every 
s;e p sure, and I know I'm on the right track. 

Mr. II. Speak plainly, Burslem— this lady is to be my wife. 

I)i;. 13. General, I'm glad to hear it — for both your sakes — 
and for the sake of that dear girl up stairs. Under the circum- 
stances then nothing that I shall say will hurt your feelings. 
Well, General, to speak plainly, your wife was made insane by 
an unjust susj icion of you; she hated that child and would have 
killed it if it had been in her power to do so. Your daughter 
was born, but your wife died in a delirium, cursing that child, 
unconscious of her own, but yet believing you untrue to her. 
It was sad— nothing could be worse — unless it be the fact that 
your daughter since her birth has been the victim of an inher- 
ited mania. 

Len. But Dorus apparently loved the man that, as a child, 
my sister hated so bitterly. 

Dr. B. That is the phenomenal part of the case, and yet 
that was not so strange as the sudden change in your daughter 
when she saw the mark of the branding iron — that letter "H" 
which your poor wife thought conclusive proof of your guilt, 
General. 

Mr. H. How do you explain that change, doctor? 

Dr. B. I can't, and I'm honest enough not to invent an ex- 
planation. I only see the fact, and acknowledge it. To a pro- 
fessional man, there is a charm in treating a case of insanity. 
In measles or scarlet fever we know what to expect. In cases 



52 THE LETTER H. 

of mania we don't, we only wait and watch. 

Len. Yes, men are apt to do that — and, physicians are but 
men. 

Dr. B. There are some lady physicians. 

Len. Yes, doctor, and in making a diagnosis a woman's 
intuition will help her — as it always has in love, and — 

Dr. B. Would in politics, perhaps, you were going to say. 
Now, if you were a physician I suppose your intuition would 
enable you to give the reason why Dorus tried to kill (he man 
she loved. 

Len. I would hazard an explanation even now. I think 
Dorus has been under a ban, or spell, or curse, whatever you 
may call it, from her birth— invisibly led towards that child, 
and yet not knowing why. Poor child, how she must have suf- 
fered. 

Dr. B. Allowed — but the explanation ? 

Len. It may be that unseen influence was an evil one and 
meant to have Eorus kill Diepjo — Lul you u number it was 
not until the daughter gazed upon the letter "H" as her motln r 
did eighteen years ago thit the s\>ell came over her — then, 
Dorus with the same dagger that her mother used to stal the 
pillow — thinking it was that child — then, I say, I orus stabbed 
Dieppo, — for the instant, she was not Dorus the daughter, but 
Dorus the mother! 

Dr. B. Very ingenious. I never heard about the pillow be- 
fore. Perhaps you are right. lam a firm believer in psycho- 
logical influences; perhaps, who knows, but such influences 
might extend over eighteen years, or a life time even. Thank 
you, Miss Clifton. I am a "regular" physician, but I must 
confess, disease — especially Insanity — is very irregular. (Eider 
Luke c.) 

Luke. S-s-s-s-aida t-t-t-old me to t-t-1-ell you that M-m-m-iss 
Dorus is d-d-d-d-ead. (Mr. H. and Lenore start back astonished.) 

Dr. B. What do you mean, you rascal? Dead? Nonsense! 

Luke. M-m-m-iss D-d-d-d-orus is d-d-d-dead— 

Dr. B. No she isn't either. She's more alive than you are. 

Luke. M-m-m-iss Dorus is d-d-d ead set to c-c-c-ome d-d-own 
stairs — Saida s-s-s-s-aid s-o-o-o! 

Len. Luke, tell Saida I will come at once. {Luke exits c.) 
Dr. Burslem if you wish to find the Mexican woman, find Col. 
Higby first. Intuition, doctor. Eh? (Lenore exits c.) 

Dr. B. General, women like tigers never follow a false trail; 
Herman is at the hotel. Perhaps he can tell us where his father 
is. 

Mr. II. Do you suspect Higby? 

Dr. B. I am confident that Henry Higby is Dieppo' s father 
— and he should be the husband of Carmelita. 

Mr. H. How long have you thought so? 

Dr. B. About eighteen years. 



T HE L E T T E II TT . 53 

Mr. II. And have I been Mind all that time? 

Dr. 15. You looked at Higby through your heart and not 
through your eyes. 

Mi!. II. What you say may be true — but I have no right to 
believe it, yet. We will bud him. We will treat him honorably. 

Dk. B. (Aside.) Rogues and lawyers always have a good 
man at a disadvantage. 

Mr. II. What did you say, Burslem? 

Dr. B. I said we would find him and ask Lim a few pointed 
questions — (Aside.) and I'll make a few pointed remarks. 

Mr. H. Come, doctor. (Mr.H.and Dr. B'.tvcitii.) (Enter Le- 
no-re and S tida suppt rting D rus — 'he;/ lead her towards chair.) 

Ton. Let me stand up a moment. {They allow her to stand 
alone.) I will show you bow strong I am. (Takes a step, totters, 
hut is caught by Saida and Lenore who place her in chair.) I am 
not very strong, am IV Like a little child. I shall have to learn 
to walk again. 

Lkn. (io Saida. (Said < exits R.) Do you feel better, Dorus? 

Dor. All but my heart , Aunty. That is almost broken— no 
one can understan I me. (Sobs.) 

Lex. Dorus, confido in me. Your father has asked me — 
(Dorus looks at her inquiringly.) lam to be your mother, Lorus. 
( With a glad cry Dorus throws her arms around Lenore's neek 
and kisses her. Then drops her head upon Lenore's shoulder.) 
(Enter Saida u.) 

Sai. If you please Ma-am. (Extends card.) 

Len. (Looking up.) Who is it . J 

Sai. A young man — 

Dor. DieppoV (Saida passes card to Lenore.) 

Lkn. Herman Higby, — and written in pencil — "farewell." 

Dor. Farewell? Why? Where is be going? Oh, I remember, 
to college — and be is coming back in a year for my answer. I 
siid he could hope. He loves me. Yes, I will see Herman. 
(Saida exits R.) 

Lex. My poor girl, I pity you. If Herman loves you, open 
your heart to him, Dorus — perhaps he will understand you. 
(Lenore kisses Dorus and exits v.) (Enter Herman R. He stands 
R.c. and looks at Dorus who smiles.) 

Dor. I am glad to see you Herman. I have been ill a long 
time. 

Her. It seems an age since I saw you, Dorus. 

Dor. (Affecting her old gayety.) An <ajf, why it is not even a 
year, and then — 

Her. That was a happy dream. I have lost hope, faith — 
everything — in losing you. I have lost faith in man since my 
father — 

Dor. Your father? Where is he? 

Her. I have not seen him since — since that day — when I 
learned the truth — that my father had been false to all the 



54 THE LETTER H. 

moral precepts that he had told his son nir.de the true man. 
Did I say his son? One of his sons I meant— for in my heart I 
believe Dieppo is his son. 
Doe. Dieppo — your brother? 

Hek. In the eye of Heaven if not that of man. Cheated of 
his rightful name, of his rightful fortune, of all those advan- 
tages that wealth can bestow and which have been showered 
upon me — I have not the heart to stand longer in his wry. 
That is why I have come to say farewell — I will leave you, 
Dorus, forever, and you can marry Dieppo. 

Doe. I cannot marry a man who does not love me. 
Hek. He does love ycu. T. e srid so. I lurid him, and you 
said you loved him. 

Don. 1 thought I did— but it was a passion— not true love. 
He seemed all in the world to me until — I have not forgotten — 
until in my madness I struck him with my mother's dagger. 
Thank Heaven I did not kill him, but the flow killed my love— 
my passion for him. 

HER. And could you — can you love me? 
Don. I have always loved you, Heiman — excepting when my 
passion has stood between us. My harsh words must have 
caused you so much pain. 

Hek. Dorus, I will still hope— but my duty is plain. Before 
I can claim you as my own justice must be done to Dieppo. 
(Enter Luke c.) 

Luke. M-m-m-assa D-d-d-d-depbt is going. He w-w-w-ants 
to s - s -s-ee you M-m m-iss D-d d-d-orus. 

Den. (To Herman.) May I see him? You can trust mo, 
Herman. I am no longer under a spell. 

HER. By all means. Torus, see him — comfort him. He is in t 
to blame— and he is my brother. Think, too, he saved my lilt-. 
I too must see him. We will rind our father. (Herman lea< s 
Varus to chair, leans over and kisses her. As he docs so, Diep\ <> 
enters C. Herman, without looking at Dieppo, exits r.) 
Diep. (After a pause.) Lady. 

Dor. (Turning quickly.) Dieppo? How glad I am to see you. 
(Bises. totters, — Dieppo rushes forward — Dorus takes his hand, 
then falls upon her knees before him.) Forgive me, Dieppo, c; n 
you forgive me?' You were right. My love was a dream. 

Diep. It was, lady— it is not now. I saw him kiss you. I saw 
you look into his face, and he in yours. Such love is not a 
dream — it is real. 

DOR. When I think of the pain and misery I have caused 
you, Dieppo, I am willing to put my cup of joy aside— in 
reparation. 



THE LETTER H . 55 

7 >i i:p. Rise, lady. Why should you kneel to me — or make 
reparation? You have not willingly injured me. 

Don. Before Heaven, no! I was mad, and knew not what 1 
did— what have I done? (Thinks.) I told Herman I loved him 
and always had — that I would be his wife. That cannot be — I 
had forgotten my word to you. (Dieppo lifts Iter to her feet.) 

Diet. Lady. I always knew that you loved him. 

Dok. What, even when you said that you loved me? 

Uiep. Yes, even when I said that. I admired, respected, 
even revered you — lady, but I never loved you as a husband 
should love a wife. 

Don. (Hesitatingly.) I do not understand you, Dieppo. 

Diep. I said I loved you, thinking you would then listen to 
me and go into the cottage with your friends. 

Don. Would that I had. 

Diep. Xo, lady, it is better as it is. Your eyes are opened — 
so are mine. Farewell, lady, — Dorus — I am going home to 
Mexico, — and my mother will go with me. 

D >R. Xo, no, you must not go — until you tin 1 your father. 

Dikj . My father? (With a cynical laughj (Enter C<1. II. r. 
folloued by Mr. H. Dr. B. and Herman; Denote aid Saida en.e ' 

Con. IT. My sen, my son — Dieppo — (Extends Ids arms to 
Dieppo, who recoils. Tableau.) Will you not give your hand to 
your repentant father V 

Diep. Not until I know that you have given back to my 
mother — her good name. 

Col. H. She will soon be here. I deceived Carmelita — but , 
as Heaven hears me, not willingly. I m 'ant to marry her on 
my return to Mexico. I was but twenty. I told my father and 
he refused to let me go back. Instead, he took me to Europe — 
and insisted upon my marrying Tda Delmaine in Paris, — your 
mother, Herman. 

Mr. H. But you took my name. Your wife was dead and yet 
you tied from Carmelita. 

Col. H. Horace, my pride was the cause of all — and my love 
for Herman. I lied at first to you, Horace, and then the down- 
ward track was easy. I am almost overwhelmed with my mis- 
ery, when I think what my folly has cost you. Xow the whole 
terrible story comes back to me — your wife overheard us, 
Horace— she thought you false. She cursed the woman and 
the child. 

Len. And the curse fell upon both daughter— and son. 

Col. H. It is all plain — the infatuation — the terrible revul- 
sion — my God! — will our hearts ever outgrow the wounds my 
wickedness has made? (Col. H. overcome. Herman supports his 
father.) 

Dr. B. (Aside.) My theory was correct. I will write a full 
account for the Medical Review. 



56 T H E L E T T E II II . 

Col. II. I have made what reparation I can. I have made 

Carmelita Lucello my wife. (Dieppo astonished. Enter Luke C.) 

Luke. M-rn-m-issis H-h-h-h-h-enry — (Enter Carmelita.) 

Car. My son — (Embraces Dieppe.) I told yon I would find 

your father. (Dieppo looks at Col. II. for an instant, then at his 

mother — then rushes into Col. II.' s arms. Tableau.) 

Col. II. My fortune I will divide — half to Dieppo — half to 
Herman. 

Don. No, give Dieppo all. I am rich, and Herman will not 
need it. (Col. II. smiles, looks at Mr. H. knowingly, who looks 
bark smiling.) 

Her. Yes, father, give Dieppo all. (To Dieppo.) I have long 
owed you a debt of gratitude — you saved my life. Until to-day, 
I thought that Dorus loved you — I came to say farewell to her 
forever. 

Diep. And I have said it. I am going back to Mexico. 
Her. No, Dieppo — you will stay with us— we are brothers. 
(The;/ clasp hands.) 

D()R. (Coming between thou, and taking a hand of each in h<rs.) 
And I will be your sister. 

Col. II. The letter "H" has no sad meaning to us now. 
Len. No, a joyful one; it means, Horace, my husband. 
Car. And Henry — mine. 

Don. To me. it means, Herman, home and happiness. Yes, 
and see, {arms extended) two letter IFs blended in one, and 
mine the loving arms that bind them both together — (To Her- 
man.) Husband! (To Dieppo.) Brother! 
Diep. Sister! 
Her. Wife! 

— TABLEAU.— 

CURTAIN. 
END OF THE PLA Y. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



016 165 557 * 



Iliiiillii 

016 165 557 



Hollinger C 
pH 8.5 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

016 165 557 



Hollinger Corp. 
P H 8.5 



